ted home.

Bela was suddenly sobered. "Wait!" she cried. "Ain't you comin' wit'
me?"

He affected not to hear her.

"I sorry I laugh," she said, genuinely distressed. "But--but you look
so fonny!" The unruly laughter threatened to escape her again. "Please
come back, Sam."

"I can't come like this, can I?" he said scornfully.

"Sure!" she said. "I mak' good fire. You soon dry off."

He gradually allowed himself to be persuaded. Finally, with dignity
somewhat marred by his bedraggled appearance, he took his place very
gingerly in the bow. Bela bit her lips to keep the laughter in.

"I not want to laugh," she said naively. "Somesing inside mak' me.
Your face look so fonny when you sit down in the water! Laka bear when
him hear a noise--oh!"

Sam glowered in silence.

She exerted herself to charm away the black looks. "See papa mus'rat,"
she said, pointing. "Sit so stiff under the leaves, think we see
not'ing. Sit up wit' hands on his stomach lak little ol' man and look
mad. Look lak Musq'oosis."

Meanwhile she was nosing the dugout cleverly around the grassy bends
of the tiny stream and under the willows. It was like a toy boat on a
fairy river. Sometimes the willows interlaced overhead, making a
romantic green tunnel to be explored.

Finally, as they drew near the woods at the head of the meadow, she
turned her boat into a narrow backwater starred with little lilies,
and drove it forward till it grounded as snugly as a ship in its
berth.

Leading the way up the grassy bank, she pushed under the willows and
introduced Sam into a veritable _Titania's_ bower, completely
encircled by the springing bushes. This was her cache.

Her blankets lay neatly rolled within a tarpaulin. There was her
grub-box with stones upon the cover to keep out four-footed prowlers.
Her spare moccasins were hanging from the branches to dry.

She made Sam sit down, in a patch of goodly sunshine, and in a jiffy
had a crackling fire of dry willow blazing before him. He took off
his coat and hung it to dry.

"Tak' off your shirt, too," she said. "Dry quicker."

Sam shook his head, blushing.

"Go on," she said coolly. "I guess you got ot'er shirt on, too."

The blue flannel shirt joined the coat beside the fire.

She handed him a towel to dry his hair with. Afterward she produced a
comb.

"I comb your hair nice," she said.

Sam started away in a panic and held out his hand for the comb. Bela
let him have it with a regretful l