She opened her eyes then, dreamily, languishingly, and in them he seemed to read her answer, and was satisfied. They had reached the point where they had planned to spread their picnic supper. He drove the canoe into the soft earth of the sloping bank and steadied it with the paddle while she, gathering up her fluffy skirts, stepped out. He dragged the boat upon the bank and handed her the hamper. They climbed up to a shelf of rock over the edge of which a spring sent whirling to the road below a glistening rope of water. They set the basket in the cool shade, at the edge of the shelf, and descending again followed the road along the stream. The air was filled with the sounds of joyous Nature. The world was glad and gay; glad for the tall, strong youth in flannels who strode beside a yellow-haired girl; and gay for the girl. In the evening they waited on "their rock," as she called it, until twilight rose and the birds became quiet and the wild life about was still. Over the shoulder of the hill across the river the moon rose, round, high, white, to light a gleaming path along the stream. Paddling back, Houston displayed his skill, for it was no child's work against the current. She watched him; the strong, even movements of his arms, as he fairly bent the paddle blade before his steady strokes. Rounding a bend the lights of the town twinkled into view. "We're nearly home," he called, and the words came quick and short from the effort he had made. "And you're tired," she murmured. "No, not tired," he replied--"I only wish it were longer----" "But we can come again--before you go home." "Florence--I don't want to go, now." He hesitated a moment. "I might make the governor believe that the summer school would materially benefit his son," he added. She laughed at the mockery in his voice. "I'm afraid I should be your only professor," she said. "I would hope so," he replied. "No, dear," she said, seriously, "don't this summer--next, perhaps." "Will you write me then--often?" he asked. "How often?" "Don't you suppose you could--I shan't say every day--but every other day?" "Yes." And his heart leaped in his breast at the tone she employed. "I love you," he whispered. "Oh, how I love you!" "And you will keep your promise?" She smiled back at him. "Yes." "Dearest Jack!" "I'm going to tell the governor when I get home, Florence," he suddenly exclaimed. "No, no, dear, don't; not yet." The haste of her reply was startling--"I don't think I would," she added more calmly, seemingly herself conscious of it. "Perhaps he'll come on, next year; then he could meet me; and he could see---- Perhaps he might not--might not--like it----" "Not like it!" he cried. "Yes, you're right; he might fall in love with you himself! Yes, he might," he added in mock seriousness, "I hadn't thought of that...."