o be
entertained, she has been pouring forth words, fancies, snatches
of song like sparkling wine, and I am exhilarated instead of being
wearied."

When at last they found a spring at which to eat their lunch, he told
her so, concluding, "This mountain air does you good, Madge."

"So do you," she replied, with a piquant nod. "Don't be conceited when
I tell you that you are good company."

"No; but I can't help being happy."

"Oh, indeed! It doesn't seem to take much to make you happy."

"Not very much from you."

"Pass me a biscuit, Graydon; I want something more substantial than
fine speeches after our climb. Isn't all this truly Arcadian--this
mossy rug on which we have placed our lunch, the trees whispering
about us overhead, and the spring there bubbling over with something
concerning which it murmurs so contentedly?"

"I wonder what they think of us! I can imagine one thing."

"You are always imagining. The idea of your being a banker! Well,
there is a loud whisper from the trees. What was remarked?"

"That yonder little girl doesn't look so very unhappy."

"No, Graydon," she said, earnestly, "you make Saturdays and Sundays
very bright to me. No girl ever had a truer friend than you are
becoming."

"Have become, Madge."

"Graydon," she said, eagerly, as if hastening from dangerous ground,
"the hotel is there just opposite to us. Don't you think we could
scramble down the mountain here, and return by Kaaterskill Clove and
the Falls? It would be such fun, and save such a very long distance!"

"We'll try it," he said.

"Come," she resumed, brusquely, "you are spoiling me. You say yes to
everything. If you don't think it safe or best you must not humor me."

"We can soon learn whether it's safe and practicable, and there is no
danger of losing our way. We have only to return over the mountain in
order to strike the path somewhere at right angles."

"Let us hasten, then. I am in the mood to end our sojourn in the
Catskills by an hour or two of contact with nature absolutely
primitive. The scenes we shall pass through will be so pleasant to
think of by a winter fire."

"Winter fire? That's capital! You are not going back to Santa Barbara,
Madge?"

"I haven't promised that--I haven't promised anything."

"No; I have done all the promising."

"You did so of your own free will."

"And of my own free will shall keep my promises. No, don't let us
leave any remnants of our lunch. Should we get lost