At length the barking of a dog rang through the woods, and soon sounds of some one approaching were heard. Miss Sturtevant's lips closed with an expression of firmness, over which, however, instantly spread the veil of a smile. Shading her eyes with her hand, and half-turning where she stood, she looked off through the leafy spaces towards the setting sun, conscious that the first glimpse the new-comer caught of her would give him her figure at its best. So absorbed was she in gazing at the sunset, that she apparently did not hear the approaching stranger until he was within half a dozen feet of her. Then she turned suddenly, just as the dog ran up to her. She uttered a little exclamation of surprise. "How you startled me!" she said, stooping to caress the dog, a handsome pointer. "What a lovely dog you are!" "He is a kind o' handsome pup," the hunter said, replying to the remark addressed to his dog,--"handsome for a pup, that is," he added guardedly. "Oh!" cried Flora, catching sight of the game which the man carried. "Oh, how perfectly lovely the necks of those birds are! What are they? What a fine shot you must be!" "Well, middlin'," he answered, evidently flattered. "Them partridges was terrible shy." "I've wanted a heron all summer," remarked she, still admiring the glossy necks of the birds. "The feathers, I mean; but I didn't know anybody who could shoot one." "Herons ain't none too plenty round here," he said, "and it's all-fired hard to get a shot at one." "Haven't I seen you before?" asked Flora, letting her trimly-gloved hand rest upon the dog's head. "Did you ever live in Boston?" "I guess I did!" he returned. "I lived with Breck there for most seven years." "Oh! then, you are Mr. Mixon. It is wonderful that I happened to meet you here. I've wanted to see you for a long time. Do you know who I am?" "You must be Miss Sturtevant, ain't you?--the one who was so deused smart about the Branch stock." "Did you hear of that?" she asked, laughing. "I suppose I am the one; but I didn't know I was so smart." "All-fired smart is what I say," Mixon affirmed with emphasis. "What did you want of me?" "You may think it strange," she said reflectively; "yes, I'm sure you will think it very strange that I know any thing about it; but you have some papers that I want to see." Mixon's face instantly assumed an expression of intensest cunning. He leaned upon his gun, bending his head towards his companion. The dog stood between the strangely-matched pair, turning his intelligent face from one to the other. Flora pushed her hat back from her face as if for coolness, but in reality because she knew it was more becoming so. Her blue eyes shot persuasive glances upon the man before her; while her fingers toyed with the long silken ears of the pointer. "Papers!" Mixon said. "What sort of papers?"