He goes, and gets in position, and Kitty makes some pencil-marks on the margin of her sketch. Then she waves her hands to tell him, across the shouting current, that she is done with him. She has been so quick that he thinks he must have mistaken her gesture. Then Harshaw makes the train-conductor's signal for the train to move on. "You see," she says to Harshaw and me, who are looking over her shoulder, "_that_ would be the size of him in my sketch." She points to the marginal pencil-mark, which is not longer than the nib of a stub-pen. "I can't make a little black dot like that look like a man." "In this particular sketch, for his purpose, he'd rather look like a dot than a man, I dare say," said Harshaw. "Well, shall I put him in? I can make a note of it on the margin: 'This black dot is Mr. Daly, standing at the spring-head. He is six feet'"-- "But he isn't, you know," Harshaw says. "He's five feet ten--if he's that." "Ten and a half," I hasten to amend. Our lunch that day had been left in the boat. We went down and ate it under the mountain birches at a spot where the Snow Bank empties into the lagoon--not _our_ lagoon, as we called it, between our camp and the lovely Sand Springs Fall, but the upper one, made by the springs themselves, before their waters reach the river. In front of us, half embraced by the lagoon and half by the river, lay a little island-ranch of about ten acres, not cut up in crops, but all over green in pasture. A small cabin, propping up a large hop-vine, showed against a mass of birch and cottonwood on the river side of the island. "What a place for a honeymoon!" said I. "There is material there for half of a honeymoon," said Tom--"not bad material, either." "Oh, yes," I said; "we have seen her--that is, we have seen her sunbonnet." "Kitty, you've got a rival," I exclaimed: for there in the sunny centre of the island, planted with obvious design right in front of the Snow Bank, _our_ Snow Bank, was an artist's big white umbrella. "Why should I not have, in a place like this?" she said. "If the schemers arrive by twos, why not two of my modest craft? _We_ shall leave it as we find it; we don't intend to carry it away in our pockets." She stopped, and blushed disdainfully. "I forgot," she murmured, "my own mercenary designs." "I have not heard of these mercenary designs of yours. What are they, may I ask?" Harshaw had turned on his side on the grass, and half rose on one elbow as he looked at her. "That is strange," mocked Kitty, with supreme coldness. "You have always been so interested in my affairs!" "I always shall be," he replied seriously, with supreme gentleness. "I ought to be so grateful." "But unfortunately you are not." "I should be grateful--if you would move a little farther to the right, if you please. That young person in the pink sunbonnet is coming down to water her horses again."