If the child were dreaming, it was a delicious dream. Her magnetic eyes were suffused by a strange light, as though the eye itself had blushed; her full pulse showed itself more in the rounding outline of her cheek than in any deepening of color; indeed, if there was any heightening of tint, it was in her freckles, which fairly glistened like tiny spangles. Her eyes were downcast, her shoulders slightly bent, but her voice was low and clear and thoughtful as ever. “One o' the big pines above the Madrono pit has blown over into the run,” she said. “It's choked up the water, and it's risin' fast. Like ez not it's pourin' over into the pit by this time.” The old man rose with a fretful cry. “And why in blames didn't you say so first?” he screamed, catching up his axe and rushing to the door. “Ye didn't give me a chance,” said Flip, raising her eyes for the first time. With an impatient imprecation, Fairley darted by her and rushed into the wood. In an instant she had shut the door and bolted it. In the same instant the squaw arose, dashed the long hair not only from her eyes, but from her head, tore away her shawl and blanket, and revealed the square shoulders of Lance Harriott! Flip remained leaning against the door; but the young man in rising dropped the bandaged papoose, which rolled from his lap into the fire. Flip, with a cry, sprang toward it; but Lance caught her by the waist with one arm, as with the other he dragged the bundle from the flames. “Don't be alarmed,” he said, gayly, “it's only--” “What?” said Flip, trying to disengage herself. “My coat and trousers.” Flip laughed, which encouraged Lance to another attempt to kiss her. She evaded it by diving her head into his waistcoat, and saying, “There's father.” “But he's gone to clear away that tree?” suggested Lance. One of Flip's significant silences followed. “Oh, I see,” he laughed. “That was a plan to get him away! Ah!” She had released herself. “Why did you come like that?” she said, pointing to his wig and blanket. “To see if you'd know me,” he responded. “No,” said Flip, dropping her eyes. “It's to keep other people from knowing you. You're hidin' agin.” “I am,” returned Lance; “but,” he interrupted, “it's only the same old thing.” “But you wrote from Monterey that it was all over,” she persisted. “So it would have been,” he said gloomily, “but for some dog down here who is hunting up an old scent. I'll spot him yet, and--” He stopped suddenly, with such utter abstraction of hatred in his fixed and glittering eyes that she almost feared him. She laid her hand quite unconsciously on his arm. He grasped it; his face changed.