Fessenden threw aside his axe. “Let’s go down to the lake,” he said, with brutal abruptness. “It’s not far, and I’ll row you and Mamie home--here she comes.” He strode on ahead, and when the girls reached the shore he had one of the boats drawn up to the landing. He rowed with such swift strong strokes that the light craft fairly flew up the lake. “My, Fess!” remarked Mamie Hunter. “You appear to be in a hurry--must have wasted time after I left you.” “Of course the trees have to be spiled, but Miss Morton was too tired to walk home. You shouldn’t have brought her such a distance the first time.” “She didn’t calculate on finding a nurse ready made; she’s real fortunate. Perhaps you’ll come over and carry her next time.” “I should like to.” He smiled protectingly into the impassive expectant eyes; even in the throes he was the lordly male. Moreover, pride had shaken him into a temporary possession of his senses. “What do you think of our scenery?” he asked Miss Morton. “It’s real pretty.” “Pretty? Beautiful, I should call it.” “Yes, I guess beautiful suits it better.” If he had applied to it erudite and foreign adjectives she would have assented as amiably. “Fess is a crank,” advised Mamie. “You mustn’t mind anything he raves over. You’ll be the next thing, I suppose--he’ll find it quite a relief after so much brain work.” Mamie was an admirer and disciple of Christina, besides possessing a quick and observing eye of her own. She had a long, investigating nose, and no beauty whatever; but with the boys, whom she treated villanously, she was the most popular girl in the district. “Have you read much?” asked Fessenden of his divinity, ignoring Mamie. “Oh yes.” “What? Shakespeare? History? Biographies?” “I guess so. I always forget people’s names that write things.”