Whereupon warm-hearted little Mrs. Collinson kissed her vehemently, as an outlet for her indignation. "Don't you fret about his safety, child," she said; "he's safe as can be. Safe, indeed! Why, that little brown Indian wretch knows the country as few do, and they're both used to wood-wandering, the naughty boys. Oh, he 's safe enough, if that were all you have to worry about." But perhaps at the bottom of their hearts neither she nor her husband were quite so confident as they gave Stephanie to believe. They felt sure that the fugitives had gone north to unknown wildernesses. And what dangers might those unsettled countries hold? "I don't doubt Dick's wanting to come back here before the year's out," remarked Mr. Collinson privately to his wife; "but they 're only a pair of boys, and in my opinion, Mrs. C., it's a risky thing. Practically, young Underwood has put his life into the Indian's hands, and I doubt whether that clever little brown villain values the said life enough to take very good care of it. However, there's no telling. Only when I see Steenie's face, I should like to have the thrashing of both the rascals, brown and white. What business had Dick to go off and leave his only sister in this fashion?" "Others would be glad to take care of her better," remarked Mrs. Collinson oracularly. And her husband screwed up his face as in preparation for whistling, and afterwards regarded Roger thoughtfully but with approval. The last of the grey drifts of snow disappeared from the cool hollows. Roger always found time to visit the sheltered nooks along the edge of the little ravine that cut through the fields, returning to the homestead with great store of frail, exquisite arbutus, and the starry hepaticas, blue, pink, and white, nested in silvery down; the promise of leaf and blossom was fulfilled on every branch; the first sky-bird calls were brought to perfect song; and still Dick remained away. Through all its beautiful subtle changes, the spring passed on to summer. The young leaves of oak and maple lost their tinge of scarlet, and the wild fruit trees lost their snow of blossom. Sturdier, less shadowy flowers replaced the bloodroot and hepatica. The birds were busier. All about the homestead was a world of warm delicate air, and skies shadowed with promise of rain, passing gradually to brighter sun and deeper blue. Yet still Dick did not come. Stephanie knew that, once having run wild as it were, he would not return until he had drunk his fill of freedom. That he would return eventually, she firmly believed, drawn back by his affection for her. And as the weeks went on, she set herself to wait as patiently as she might. But it was very weary work, and at times Mrs. Collinson's tender heart ached for her.