"Douglas," called Leslie over the telephone, "I have developed nerves." "Why?" inquired he. "Dad has just come in with a pair of waist-high boots, and a scalping knife, I think," answered Leslie. "Are you going to bring a blanket and a war bonnet?" "The blanket, I can; the bonnet, I might," said Douglas. "How early will you be ready?" she asked. "Whenever you say," he replied. "Five?" she queried. "Very well!" he answered. "And Leslie, I would suggest a sweater, short stout skirts, and heavy gloves. Do you know if you are susceptible to poison vines?" "I have handled anything wild as I pleased all my life," she said. "I am sure there is no danger from that source; but Douglas, did you ever hear of, or see, a massasauga?" "You are perfectly safe on that score," he said. "I am going along especially to take care of you." "All right, then I won't be afraid of snakes," she said. "I have waders, too," he said, "and I'm going into the swamp with you. Wherever you wish to go, I will precede you and test the footing." "Very well! I have lingered on the borders long enough. To-morrow will be my initiation. By night I'll have learned the state of my artistic ability with natural resources, and I'll know whether the heart of the swamp is the loveliest sight I ever have seen, and I will have proved how I 'line up' with a squaw-woman." "Leslie, I'm now reading a most interesting human document," said Douglas, "and in it I have reached the place where Indians in the heart of terrific winter killed and heaped up a pile of deer in early day in Minnesota, then went to camp rejoicing, while their squaws were left to walk twenty-eight miles and each carry back on her shoulder a deer frozen stiff. Leslie, you don't line up! You are not expected to." "Do you believe that, Douglas?" asked the girl. "It's history dear, not fiction," he answered. "Douglas!" she warned. "Leslie, I beg your pardon! That was a slip!" cried he. "Oh!" she breathed. "Leslie, will you do something for me?" he questioned. "What?" she retorted. "Listen with one ear, stop the other, and tell me what you hear," he ordered. "Yes," she said. "Did you hear, Leslie?" he asked anxiously. "I heard something, I don't know what," she answered. "Can you describe it, Leslie?" "Just a rushing, beating sound! What is it Douglas?" "My heart, Leslie, sending to you each throbbing stroke of my manhood pouring out its love for you." "Oh-h-h!" cried the astonished girl. "Will you listen again, Leslie?" begged the man. "No!" she said. "You don't want to hear what my heart has to say to you?" he asked. "Not over a wire! Not so far away!" she panted. "Then I'll shorten the distance. I'm coming, Leslie!" "What shall I do?" she gasped. She stared around her, trying to decide whether she should follow her impulse to hide, when her father entered the room.