a smooth, white skin as well as
any London beau who praises it in verses. And I shall have one for
myself, too. You may see, to-night, if the Misses Carmichael come with
Lady Schuyler, for we'll have a dance, perhaps, and I mean to paint and
patch and powder till you'd swear me a French marquise!... Cousin, this
narrow forest pathway leads across the water back to the house. Shall we
take it?... You will have to carry me over the stream, for I'll not wet
my shins for love of any man, mark that!"

She tied her pink hat-ribbons under her chin and stood up while I made
ready; then I lifted her from the ground. Very gravely she dropped her
arms around my neck as I stepped into the rushing current and waded out,
the water curling almost to my knee-buckles. So we crossed the
grist-mill stream in silence, eyes averted from each other's faces; and
in silence, too, we resumed the straight and narrow path, now deep with
last year's leaves, until we came to a hot, sandy bank covered with wild
strawberries, overlooking the stream.

In a moment she was on her knees, filling her handkerchief with
strawberries, and I sat down in the yellow sand, eyes following the
stream where it sparkled deep under its leafy screen below.

"Cousin," she said, timidly, "are you displeased?"

"Why?"

"At my tyranny to make you bear me across the stream--with all your
heavier burdens, and my own--"

"I ask no sweeter burdens," I replied.

She seated herself in the sand and placed a scarlet berry between lips
that matched it.

"I have tried very hard to talk to you," she said.

"I don't know what to say, Dorothy," I muttered. "Truly I do desire to
amuse you and make you laugh--as once I did. But the heart of everything
seems dead. There! I did not mean that! Don't hide your face, Dorothy!
Don't look like that! I--I cannot bear it. And listen, cousin; we are to
be quite happy. I have thought it all out, and I mean to be gay and
amuse you.... Won't you look at me, Dorothy?" "Wh--why?" she asked,
unsteadily.

"Just to see how happy I am--just to see that I pull no long
faces--idiot that I was!... Dorothy, will you smile just once?"

"Yes," she whispered, lifting her head and raising her wet lashes.
Presently her lips parted in one of her adorable smiles. "Now that you
have made me weep till my nose is red you may pick me every strawberry
in sight," she said, winking away the bright tears. "You have heard of
the penance of the Algonquin witch?"