She turned and faced him. Framed in the soft, green fringe of the trees, she seemed to him the very embodiment of young summer--the free, untrammeled spirit of Arden. Ever since the first he had been growing more and more conscious of what she was: a nature vital, beautiful, tender, untouched by the searing things of life--trusting and worthy of trust; but it was not until this moment that he realized the future promise of her. And the realization swept all his smoldering love aflame into his eyes and lips. His arms went out to her in a sudden, passionate appeal. "Patsy--Patsy! Would the name make any difference?" "Why should it?" she cried, with saucy coquetry. "I'm marrying the man and not his name. If I can stand the one, I can put up with the other, I'm thinking. Anyhow, 'twill be on the marriage license the day after to-morrow, and that's time enough." "Do you really mean you would marry a man, not knowing his name or anything about his family--or his income--or--" "That's the civilized way, isn't it?--to find out about those things first; and afterward it's time enough when you're married to get acquainted with your man. But that's not the way that leads off the road to Arden--and it's not my way. I know my man now--God bless him." And away she ran through the trees and out of sight. The tinker watched the trees and underbrush swing into place, covering her exit. So tense and motionless he stood, one might have suspected him of trying to conjure her back again by the simple magic of heart and will. It turned out a disappointing piece of conjuring, however; the green parted again, but not to redisclose Patsy. A man, instead, walked into the open, toward the giant oaks, and one glimpse of him swept the tinker's memory back to a certain afternoon and a cross-roads. He could see himself sitting propped up by the sign-post, watching the door of a little white church, while down the road clattered a sorrel mare and a runabout. And the man that drove--the man who was trailing Patsy--was the man that came toward him now, looking for--some one. "You haven't seen--" he began, but the tinker interrupted him: "Guess not. I've been watching the company break up. Rather interesting to any one not used to that sort of thing--don't you think?" The man eyed him narrowly; then cautiously he dropped into an attitude of exaggerated indifference. "It sure is--young feller. Now you hain't been watchin' that there leadin' lady more particularly, have you? I sort o' cal'ate she might have a takin' way with the fellers," and he prodded the tinker with a jocular thumb. The tinker responded promptly with a foolish grin. "Maybe I have; but the luck was dead against me. Guess she had a lot of friends with her. I saw them carry her off in triumph in a big touring-car--probably they'll dine her at the country club."