Thinking of Dr. Cecil, the Little Doctor grew guiltily red. But she had never said Cecil was a man, she reflected, with what comfort she could. The boys, like Dunk, had simply made the mistake of taking too much for granted. Chip opened the smallest blade of his knife deliberately, sat down upon a neighboring rock and finished his cigarette, still turning the shoe reflectively--and caressingly--in his hand. “I'd smile to see the Countess try to put that shoe on,” he remarked, holding the cigarette in some mysterious manner on his lip. “I'll bet she couldn't get one toe in it.” “I don't see that it matters, whether she could or not,” snapped the Little Doctor. “For goodness sake, hurry!” “You're pretty mad, aren't you?” inquired he, shoving his hat back off his forehead, and looking at her as though he enjoyed doing so. “Do I look mad?” asked she, tartly. “I'd tell a man you do!” “Well--my appearance doesn't half express the state of my mind!” “Your mind must be in an awful state.” “It is.” Two minutes passed silently. “Dr. Cecil's bread is done--she gave me a slice as big as your hat, with butter and jelly on it. It was out of sight.” The Little Doctor groaned, and rallied. “Butter and jelly on my hat, did you say?” “Not on your hat--on the bread. I ate it coming back down the coulee--and I sure had my hands full, leading Concho, too.” The Little Doctor held back the question trembling on her hungry, parched lips as long as she could, but it would come. “Was it good?” “I'd tell a man!” said Chip, briefly and eloquently. The Little Doctor sighed. “Dr. Cecil Granthum's a mighty good fellow--I'm stuck on him, myself--and if I haven't got the symptoms sized up wrong, the Old Man's GOING to be.” “That's all the good it will do him. Cecil and I are going somewhere and practice medicine together--and we aren't either of us going to get married, ever!” “Have you got the papers for that?” grinned Chip, utterly unmoved. “I have my license,” said the Little Doctor, coldly. “You're ahead of me there, for I haven't--yet. I can soon get one, though.” “I wish to goodness you'd hurry up with that shoe! I'm half starved.” “Well, show me a dimple and you can have it. My, you are cranky!” The Little Doctor showed him two, and Chip laid the shoe in her lap--after he had surprised himself, and the doctor, by planting a daring little kiss upon the toe. “The idea!” exclaimed she, with a feeble show of indignation, and slipped her foot hurriedly into its orthodox covering. Feeling his inscrutable, hazel eyes upon her, she blushed uncomfortably and fumbled the laces. “You better let me lace that shoe--you won't have it done in a thousand years, at that gait.” “If you're in a hurry,” said she, without looking at him, “you can ride on ahead. It would please me better if you did.” “Yes? You've been pleased all summer--at my expense. I'm going to please myself, this time. It's my deal, Little Doctor. Do you want to know what's trumps?”