“There, there, don’t cry! There is nothing to be afraid of. I have a home in the bank yonder. It isn’t a palace,—only a cave, or dugout, in the side of the rock,—but it is clean and dry and warm. You’ll be as securely protected there as in your father’s camp. I could do no better, under the circumstances, for my mother or my Queen.” “Are you English, sir?” “I am proud to answer, Yes.” “You don’t look like the subject of a woman ruler.” “Why not?” “Because you seem like a sovereign in your own right.” “So I am, in America.” “I mean to be a sovereign American, myself, some day.” He laughed and shook his head. “I hope you are never going to become one of those discontented women whom I’ve heard of in America, who are engaged in a perpetual quarrel with their Creator because they were not born men.” “Have you seen such women in America, sir?” “No; but I have read some newspapers that made the charge.” “Do you believe everything that you read in the papers? Daddie don’t.” “I can’t say that I do.” “God understands what He is about when He creates a girl, sir; and God didn’t create us to be the vassals of anybody. All we ask is a chance to do our best in everything, ourselves being the judges as to what that best shall be.” “How old are you?” “Almost sixteen.” “You act with the charm of a child, but you talk like a grown-up woman. Are all the girls of your family equally clever?” “God never made two trees, or even two leaves of a tree, exactly alike. You couldn’t expect two persons to be alike.” The stranger, conscious of a peculiar interest in this new and original character, felt a tumultuous sensation in the region of his heart. “I am hungry, sir. But as I haven’t any money, I must ask you to trust me till to-morrow.” He was leading her toward his dugout as they talked, or rather as he listened. He had a school-day remembrance of a pair of brown eyes like Jean’s. He had worshipped those eyes from a distance, for their possessor was a nobleman’s daughter with whom he had never exchanged sentiments, and she had never bestowed a thought upon him. And here was this artless, untaught, but wonderfully intelligent maiden, in a travel-soiled blue calico dress, and sunbonnet to match, who seemed to him possessed of potentialities so far in advance of any promise ever given by the object of his earlier dreams that he spurned the thought of comparing the two as he dwelt upon her words. His heart continued its wild tattoo, and he felt as if walking on air. “Here! This way, Siwash,” he called to his Indian servant, as he paused in front of his lodgings and tendered her a seat outside. “As you see, I have company. Get up the very best meal the place affords. This guest and I are to dine together.”