One late spring afternoon she was, as usual, sporting and dashing around in the clear, swift stream, when suddenly raising her eyes, she saw on the opposite bank of the river a young man on a fine, restless, white charger; he was dressed in the becoming blue of a soldier; on his coat glittered and dazzled rows of brass buttons, and on his shoulders gleamed the insignia of army rank. He was looking at her very earnestly, and yet without seeming rudeness. Ellen sank at once into the water, so that nothing was visible but her head, and, turning away her face, hurriedly made for the shore, creeping along under the water as it grew shallower. The horseman, divining her fright, or actuated by some other motive, turned his horse's head, and galloped away in the direction of the ford, a quarter of a mile above where she had been bathing. Oh, if she could only reach the shelter of her own home before this stranger could find her retreat! She flew to her leafy dressing-room, and with flying fingers adjusted her clothing, flinging her bathing-dress on the bushes and with heavy heart-beats in her throat she sped along the path to her home. She found that Aunt Clara had gone to a distant house where a child had died. Aunt Clara was away from home very much in those long summer days. She was busy with the sick bodies of her people; alas that she knew naught of the sick soul of one of the creatures that she loved better than she did her own life! How Ellen longed to spring into her friend Diantha's arms, and to tell her all that had happened! But Dian was not at home, and when Ellen learned that she had gone out horseback riding with Tom Allen she wondered with a queer little hurt in her heart if a small jealousy had prompted part of Diantha's cruel mirth at her own expense. Three days passed before Ellen ventured to take her customary walk by the river side. Then, indeed, her heart fluttered and sank, as she approached her leafy bower. But she saw no one and heard no sound to disturb her peace. She almost wondered, as she visited the spot day after day, if she had not possibly dreamed she saw the soldier on the opposite bank. She was getting silly on the subject of dreams, she told herself, scornfully. One lovely afternoon, as the canyon breezes were blowing down from the many clefts in the eastern mountain walls, with the bees humming about her the song of the desert as they seized the sweets of every flower in her path, and the distant sound of the foaming river just insistent enough to mingle with the rustle of the cottonwood trees over her head, Ellen strolled along the accustomed path, and with nimble fingers wove for her uncovered brown braids a wreath of wild grasses and the pale purple daisies which skirted every path in generous profusion.