"Sure!" replied Sam sorely. "I won't trouble you----"

"If we could write to each other," she suggested, "and leave the
letters in a safe place."

Sam shook his head. "Never was any hand at writing letters," he said
deprecatingly. "I run dry when I take a pen. Besides, I have no place
to write, nor anything to write with."

"There is another way," she murmured, "but I suppose I shouldn't speak
of it."

"What way?" asked Sam.

"There's a trail from the back of our house direct to Grier's Point.
It is never used except when they bring supplies to the store in the
summer. We keep very early hours. Everything is quiet by nine. I could
slip out of the house and walk down the trail to meet you. We could
talk a while, and I could be in again before dark."

Sam felt a little dubious, but how can a young man hold back in a
matter of this kind? "All right, if you wish it," he agreed.

"I am only thinking of you," she said.

"I'll be there."

* * * * *

No better place for a tryst could have been found. No one ever had any
occasion to use the back trail, and it was invisible for its whole
length to travellers on the main road. After issuing from the woods of
Grier's Point it crossed a wide flat among clumps of willows, and,
climbing over the spur of a wooded hill, dropped in Beattie's back
yard.

They met half-way across the flat in the tender dusk. The fairy light
took away ten years of her age, and Sam experienced almost a _bona
fide_ thrill of romance at the sight of her slender figure swaying
over the meadow toward him.

In his gratitude for her kindness he really desired to feel more
warmly toward her, which is a perilous state of mind for a young man
to be in. He spread his coat for her to sit on, and dropped beside her
in the grass.

"Smoke your pipe," she said. "It's more cosy."

He obeyed.

"I wish I had a cigarette myself," she added with a giggle.

"Do you smoke?" asked Sam, surprised.

"No," she confessed; "but all the girls do, nowadays."

"I don't like it," said Sam bluntly.

"Of course I was only joking," she returned hastily.

Their conversation was not very romantic. Sam, with the best
intentions in the world, somehow frustrated her attempts in this
direction. He was propped up on one elbow beside her.

"How thick and bright your hair is!" she murmured.

"You've got some hair yourself," returned Sam politely.

She quickly put both hands up. "Ah! don'