songs--or
anything else?" responded Bransford in sudden moodiness and
dejection--for, after the song, the end of everything! He flinched at
the premonition of irrevocable loss.

The girl made no answer. This is what she sang. No; you shall not be
told of her voice. Perhaps there is a voice that you remember, that
echoes to you through the dusty years. How would you like to describe
that?

"Oh, Sandy has monie and Sandy has land,
And Sandy has housen, sae fine and sae grand--
But I'd rather hae Jamie, wi' nocht in his hand,
Than Sandy, wi' all of his housen and land.

"My father looks sulky; my mither looks soor;
They gloom upon Jamie because he is poor.
I lo'e them baith dearly, as a docther should do;
But I lo'e them not half sae weel, dear Jamie, as you!

"I sit at my cribbie, I spin at my wheel;
I think o' the laddie that lo'es me sae weel.
Oh, he had but a saxpence, he brak it in twa,
And he gied me the half o't ere he gaed awa'!

"He said: 'Lo'e me lang, lassie, though I gang awa'!'
He said: 'Lo'e me lang, lassie, though I gang awa'!'
Bland simmer is cooming; cauld winter's awa',
And I'll wed wi' Jamie in spite o' them a'!"

Jeff's back was to a tree, his hat over his eyes. He pushed it up.

"Thank you," he said; and then, quite directly: "Are you rich?"

"Not--very," said Ellinor, a little breathless at the blunt query.

"I'm going to be rich," said Jeff steadily.

"'I'm going to be a horse,' quoth the little eohippus." The girl
retorted saucily, though secretly alarmed at the import of this
examination.

"Ex-actly. So that's settled. What is your name?"

"Hoffman."

"Where do you live, Hoffman?"

"Ellinor," supplemented the girl.

"Ellinor, then. Where do you live, Ellinor?"

"In New York--just now. Not in town. Upstate. On a farm. You see,
grandfather's growing old--and he wanted father to come back."

"New York's not far," said Jeff.

A sudden panic seized the girl. What next? In swift, instinctive
self-defense she rose and tripped to the tree where lay her neglected
sketch-book, bent over--and started back with a little cry of alarm.
With a spring and a rush, Jeff was at her side, caught her up and glared
watchfully at bush and shrub and tufted grass.

"Mr. Bransford! Put me down!"

"What was it? A rattlesnake?"

"A snake? What an idea! I just noticed how late it was. I must go."

Crestfallen, sheepi