"Yes, those are exquisite, but quite out of reach. We can get on faster now; and tell me, please, what are all those buildings yonder? How picturesque they look, clustered amid the trees on the river's bank." Her answer was a rustle overhead. She fancied that a squirrel could not have climbed more swiftly; for, glancing up, she discovered the witless youth already upon the projecting branch, moving toward its slender tips, which swayed beneath his weight, threatening instant breakage. Below him roared the rapids, hurrying to dash over the great dam not many yards away. "Oh! how dare you? Come back--at once!" "Scare you, do I? Sho! This is nothing. You just ought to see what I can do. Catch 'em. There you are. That's prettier than any. Hello! Yonder's a yellow-robin's nest. Wait. I'll get it for you!" Amy shut her eyes that she might not see; though she could not but hear the snapping of boughs, the yell, and the heavy splash which followed. CHAPTER II. THE MILL IN THE GLEN. "Hi! ducked myself that time, sure!" Amy ventured to open her eyes. There, dripping and grinning, evidently enjoying the fright he had given her, stood her strange new acquaintance. His hand still clutched the scarlet branch with its swinging nest that he had risked his safety to secure, nor would relinquish for so trivial a matter as a fall into the water. "You--you might have been drowned!" "But I wasn't." "I should have felt that it was all my fault!" she exclaimed, now that her fear was past, growing angry at his hardihood. He stared at her in genuine surprise; all the gayety of his expression giving place to disappointment. "Don't you like it? They always build far out." "Oh, yes. It's beautiful, and I thank you, of course. But I want to get home. You must show me the way." "Make the donkey carry 'em." "Very well." So they piled the branches upon the back of the dumbly protesting "Californian," Amy retaining the delicate nest and gently shaking the water from it. "She don't like 'em, does she?" "Not at all. Idle Pepita likes nothing that is labor. But I love her, even though she's lazy." "What'll you take for her?" "Why--nothing." "Won't swop?" "No, indeed." "Why not?" "Oh! dozens of 'whys.' The idea of my selling Pepita! For one thing, she was a gift." "Who from?" "My uncle Frederic." "When? Where? What for?" "Oh! what a question asker. Come, Pepit! Tcht!"