to his little flock and his mission
to them? Was he not assuming a sense of decorum that was open
to misconception? The absurdity of her school costume, and any
responsibility it incurred, rested not with him but with her parents.
What right had he to point it out to them, and above all how was he to
do it? He halted irresolutely at what he believed was his sober second
thought, but which, like most reflections that take that flattering
title, was only a reaction as impulsive and illogical as the emotion
that preceded it.

Mr. McKinstry's "snake rail" fence was already discernible in the
lighter opening of the woods, not far from where he had halted. As he
stood there in hesitation, the pretty figure and bright gown of Cressy
McKinstry suddenly emerged from a more secluded trail that intersected
his own at an acute angle a few rods ahead of him. She was not alone,
but was accompanied by a male figure whose arm she had evidently
just dislodged from her waist. He was still trying to resume his lost
vantage; she was as resolutely evading him with a certain nymph-like
agility, while the sound of her half-laughing, half-irate protest could
be faintly heard. Without being able to identify the face or figure of
her companion at that distance, he could see that it was NOT her former
betrothed, Seth Davis.

A superior smile crossed his face; he no longer hesitated, but at once
resumed his former path. For some time Cressy and her companion moved on
quietly before him. Then on reaching the rail-fence they turned abruptly
to the right, were lost for an instant in the intervening thicket, and
the next moment Cressy appeared alone, crossing the meadow in a shorter
cut towards the house, having either scaled the fence or slipped through
some familiar gap. Her companion had disappeared. Whether they had
noticed that they were observed he could not determine. He kept steadily
along the trail that followed the line of fence to the lane that
led directly to the farm-building, and pushed open the front gate as
Cressy's light dress vanished round an angle at the rear of the house.

The house of the McKinstrys rose, or rather stretched, itself before
him, in all the lazy ungainliness of Southwestern architecture. A
collection of temporary make-shifts of boards, of logs, of canvas,
prematurely decayed, and in some instances abandoned for a newer
erection, or degraded to mere outhouses--it presented with singular
frankness the nomadic and