Then he told her of his home and life and people. She listened thoughtfully. When he had finished she said, "It must be like that wonderful land where people go when they die." From far away they could hear the sound of a steam-whistle. Its echoes were dying in the near forest. "It is the whistle," said she, looking away, her eyes wide open. "Every time I hear it I long to go. Sometimes I think it is calling me." Neither spoke for a moment. "It comes from a distant village where there are many people," she added. "Yesterday I climbed the mountain. Far away I could see the smoke and great white buildings." "I go to that village to-morrow," said Master. She dropped her violets and looked down at them. "Would you care if you never saw me again?" he asked. She turned away and made no answer. In the silence that followed the young man was thinking what he should say next. She was first to speak, and her voice trembled a little. "Could I not see the children?" "If you would go to Lost River camp." "I cannot," said she, with a touch of despair in her voice. "My father has told me never to go there." The young man thought a moment. She turned suddenly and looked up at him. "I know you are one of the good men," she declared. "I am at least harmless," he answered, with a smile, "and--and you will make me happy if you will let me be your friend." "Tut, _tut!_" said the little crow as he flew into the tree above her head. "I would try to make you happier," the young man urged. "How?" she asked. "I could tell you about many wonderful things. You ought not to stay here in the woods," he went on. "Do you never think of the future?" She turned with a serious look in her eyes. He continued: "You _cannot_ always live at Buckhorn. Your father is growing old." "And he is well," said she. "My father has always taught me that Death comes only to those who think of him." In the distance they could hear the thunder of a falling tree. "Even the great trees have to bow before him," said the young man. A moment of silence followed. "Let me be your friend," he pleaded. She thought of what her grandmother had lately said to her and looked up at him sadly and thoughtfully. "But you--you would make me love you," said she, "and when you were like the heart in my breast--so I could not live without you--then--then you would leave me." "Ah, but you do not know," he answered. "I love you, and, even now, you are like the heart in my breast--I cannot live without you." He approached her as he spoke and his voice trembled with emotion. She rose and ran a short distance up the trail and stopped. "Will you not stay a little longer?" he pleaded. She looked back at him with a curious interest and the least touch of fear in her eyes. She moved her head slowly, negatively, as if to tell him that she would love to stay but dared not. "May I see you here to-morrow?" he asked. She smiled and nodded and waved her hand to him and ran away.