"That's the way with men--they are never satisfied," remarked Miss Hargrove. "Mr. Clifford, this is your expedition, and it's getting so dark that I shall feel safer if you are driving." "Oh, Gertrude, you have no confidence in me whatever. As if I would break your neck--or heart either!" Amy whispered in her friend's ear. "You are a very mysterious little woman," was the reply, given in like manner, "and need hours of explanation." Then, to Webb: "Mr. Clifford, I've much more confidence in you than in Amy. Her talk is so giddy that I want a sober hand on the reins." "To which Mr. Clifford do you refer?" asked Burt. "Oh, are you reviving? I thought you had become unconscious." "I'm not wholly past feeling." "I want one to drive who can see his way, not feel it," was the laughing response. Amy, too, was laughing silently, as she reined in the horses. "What are you two girls giggling about?" said Burt, becoming a little uncomfortable. "The idea of two such refined creatures giggling!" "Well," exclaimed Webb, "what am I to do? I can't stand up between you and drive." "Gertrude, you must clamber around and sustain Burt's drooping spirits." "Indeed, Amy, you must know best how to do that," was the reply. "As guest, I claim a little of the society of the commander-in-chief. You had it coming over." "I'll solve the vexed question," said Burt, much nettled, and leaping out. "Now, Burt, the question isn't vexed, and don't you be," cried Amy, springing lightly over to the next seat. "There are Fred and Alf, too, with the gun. Let us all get home as soon as possible, for it's nearly time for supper already. Come, I shall feel much hurt if you don't keep me company." Burt at once realized the absurdity of showing pique, although he felt that there was something in the air which he did not understand. He came back laughing, with much apparent good-nature, and saying, "I thought I'd soon bring one or the other of you to terms." "Oh, what a diplomat you are!" said Amy, with difficulty restraining a new burst of merriment. They soon reached the summit, and paused to give the horses a breathing. The young moon hung in the west, and its silver crescent symbolized to Miss Hargrove the hope that was growing in her heart. "Amy," she said, "don't you remember the song we arranged from 'The Culprit Fay'? We certainly should sing it here on this mountain. You take the solo." Amy sang, in clear soprano: "'The moon looks down on old Cro' Nest, She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast, And seems his huge gray form to throw In a silver cone on the wave below.'" "Imagine the cone and wave, please," said Miss Hargrove; and then, in an alto rich with her heart's deep feeling, she sang with Amy: