At this Matt shook her head with great decision, but said nothing. Greatly puzzled, the young man looked at her, and mused. It was clear that there was a mystery somewhere, and he was getting interested. Presently, he invited Matt to sit down on the steps of the caravan, and he placed himself at her side. He was too absorbed in speculation to notice how the girl coloured and brightened as they sat there together. “You have often told me that you came ashore,” he said, after a long pause. “I should like to know something of how it happened. I don’t exactly know what this ‘coming ashore’ means. Can you explain?” “I don’t remember,” she replied, “but I know there was a ship, and it went to pieces, and I floated to shore in a boat, or something.” “I see--and William Jones found you?” “Mr. Monk, he found me, and gave me to William Jones to keep.” “I begin to understand. Of course, you were very little--a baby, in fact.” “William Jones says I could just talk some words, and that when he took me home I called him ‘Papa.’” “What was the name of the ship? Have you ever heard?” “No,” said Matt. “Did you come ashore all alone? It is scarcely possible!” “I came ashore by myself. All the rest was drownded.” “Was there no clue to who you were? Did nothing come ashore besides to show them who you were, or where you came from?” Matt shook her head again. Once more the young man was lost in meditation. Doubtless it was owing to his abstraction of mind that he quietly placed his arm round Matt’s waist, and kept it there. At first Matt went very red, then she glanced up at his face, and saw that his eyes were fixed thoughtfully on the distant sand-hills. Seeing he still kept silence, she moved a little closer to him, and said very quietly--“I didn’t tell William Jones that you--kissed me!” Brinkley started from his abstraction, and looked at the girl’s blushing face. “Eh? What did you say?” “I didn’t tell William Jones that you kissed me!” These words seemed to remind the young man of the position of his arm, for he hastily withdrew it. Then the absurdity of the whole situation appeared to return upon him, and he broke into a burst of boyish laughter--at which his companion’s face fell once more. It was clear that she took life seriously, and dreaded sarcasm. “Matt,” he said, “this won’t do! This won’t do at all!” “What won’t do?” “Well--_this!_” he answered, rather ambiguously. “You’re awfully young, you know--quite a girl, although, as you suggested just now, and, as you probably believe, you may be ‘growed up.’ You must--ha!--you must look upon me as a sort of father, and all that sort of thing.” “You’re too young to be my father,” answered Matt, ingenuously.