"That is not it?" coming nearer and looking at her book. "Oh, it is verses by one Mr. Herrick. Some of them almost sing themselves, and I put tunes to them." "And sing to the woods and waters. You should have a more appreciative audience." "Oh, I couldn't sing to real people," and she flushed. "I wonder if"--and there came a far-away look in her eyes that passed him, and yet he saw it. "What is the wonder?" "That if you could write verses, songs." She asked it in all simplicity. "No, I couldn't;" in the frankest of tones. "One must know a good deal." "And be a genius beside." "What queer names they give the girls. Chloe, that isn't a bit pretty, and Phyllis, that is a slave name. And Lesbia, that isn't so bad." "I think I have found Daffodil among them. And that is beautiful." "Do you think so?" She could not tell why she was glad, but he saw it in her face, and what a sweet face it was! He wondered then how such a fascinating bit of sweetness and innocence could have kept its charm in this rather rough soil. Her frankness was fascinating. "Do you come here often?" he asked presently. "Oh, yes, in the summer." "That was when I first met you. I was with Mrs. Forbes. And her little tea was very nice and social. I've not seen you since. Don't you go to the Fort only on special invitation? There are quite a number of visitors. Strangers always come." "I am quite busy," she replied. "Grandmere has not been well, and I help mother. There is a great deal to do in the fall." Such a pretty housewifely look settled in her face. How lovely it was, with the purity of girlhood. The wind swayed the wooded expanse, and sent showers of scarlet and golden maple leaves down upon them. The hickory was a blaze of yellow, some oaks were turning coppery. Acorns fell now and then, squirrels ran about and disputed over them. He reached over and took her book, seating himself on the fallen log, and began reading to her. The sound of his voice and the melody of the poems took her into another land, the land of her fancy. If one could live in it always! The sun dropped down, and it seemed evening, though it was more the darkness of the woods. She rose. They walked down together, there was no third person, and he helped her with the gentlest touch over some hillocks made by the rain-washed roots of the trees. Then she slipped on some dead pine needles, and his arm was around her for several paces, and quietly withdrawn. Daffodil laughed and raised her face to his. "Once I slipped this way, it was over on the other path, where it is steeper, and slid down some distance, but caught a tree and saved myself, for there was a big rock I was afraid I should hit. And I was pretty well scratched. Now I catch the first thing handy. That rock is a splendid big thing. You ought to see it." "You must pilot me some day." They emerged into the light. The rivers were still gleaming with the sunset fire, but over eastward it was twilight gray.