"Then you must apologize to Wathemah before the children to-morrow." "Yes, mum." Then she dismissed him, telling him to remember what he had done, when he prayed to God that night. "Did God hear me lie?" he asked. "I think so, Donald." The child looked troubled. "I didna think o' that. I'll tell Him I'm sorry," he said as he left the schoolroom. He began to search for Wathemah, that he might make peace with him. At first Carla's search was fruitless. Then she sought him in a place she knew he loved, away up the canyon. There, sure enough, she found him. He sat on a bowlder near a cascade with his back toward her. Beyond him, on the other side of the stream, rose the overhanging cliffs. He did not hear her step as he listened to the music of the waters. "Wathemah!" she called. He started, then turned toward her. She saw that he had been crying. She climbed up on the bowlder and sat down beside him. "Donald lie!" he said, angrily. "Yes, Wathemah, but he is sorry for it, and I am sure will tell you so." She saw tears roll down the dirty little face. She had the wisdom to leave him alone; and walking a short distance up the canyon, sent pebbles skipping the water. After a while this drew him to her. "Shall we go up stream?" she asked. He nodded. They jumped from bowlder to bowlder, and at last stopped where the waters go softly, making a soothing music for the ear. "Carla!" "Yes, Wathemah." "Jesus forgive?" "Yes, dear, He does." Then Carla's self-control gave way, and she sobbed out her long-suppressed grief. Instantly the child's arms were around her neck. "No cry, Carla!" he said. "No cry, Carla!" patting her cheek. Then, putting his tear-stained cheek close to hers, he said: "Jesus love Carla." She gathered the little comforter in her arms; and though her tears fell fast, they brought relief to her heart. At last she persuaded him to return to school the following day, and to do all he could to atone for leaving it without permission. On their return, they sought the teacher in the schoolhouse, but she was gone, and the door was locked; neither was she to be found at the Clayton ranch. The little penitent lingered a long time, but his Beloved did not come. At last he walked reluctantly in to camp. Away up the mountain road, Esther Bright and Kenneth Hastings drew rein. The Englishman sat his horse well; but it was evident his companion was not a horsewoman. She might shine in a drawing-room or in a home, but not on a horse's back. If she had not been riding one of the finest saddle horses in the country, she would have appeared to greater disadvantage. The canter up the mountain road had brought the color to her cheeks. It had also shaken out her hairpins; and now her wavy brown hair, with its glint of gold, tumbled about her shoulders. "You look like a gypsy," Kenneth was saying. She laughed.