"I suppose you will," he said. He seemed to enjoy the tilt. "But Miss Bright--." He stood still and faced her. "--I didn't know you were such a fighter. Here I have been trying to make you understand how I appreciate you, and you almost give me a black eye." "You had two before--ever you saw me," she said. "You have looked into them, then," he said, maliciously, "so that you know their color?" He was, provokingly confident in his manner. Suddenly she stopped again. They were almost at Mrs. Carmichael's door, and Robert Duncan's shack was not far away. "Really, Mr Hastings," she said, resuming a serious tone, "I do wish you would leave me." "No," he persisted, "I am going to see you safely home." Mrs. Carmichael met them at the door. Donald had already reached home, and had told her of Bobbie's refusal to return with him. She patted the little one on the head. He was an attractive little boy, and it was evident Mrs. Carmichael loved him. She stooped and extended her arms, and the child ran into them. "So my Bobbie was nae coming home tae his auntie? What'd I dae wi'oot him?" Bobbie hung his head and then said softly: "Bobbie hae found a mither." The call was prolonged in order to get Bobbie into a staying frame of mind. At last they spied Robert Duncan approaching his shack, when Kenneth stepped over to tell him of Bobbie's decision and afternoon experience. At first the man smiled, then the tears trickled down his face. "Puir bairn, puir bairn," he said, huskily. Kenneth laid a kindly hand on his shoulder. He knew that Duncan was disheartened, and had spent much time, lately, in the saloons. "Come," he said. "Come get the little chap. It is evident he misses his mother." "Yes, he misses her, an' I miss her. I'll gie mair time tae him." So saying, he accompanied Kenneth to the Carmichael home and soon Bobbie was in his father's arms. The call of Kenneth and Esther drew to a close. As the two walked briskly toward the camp, Esther Bright paused from time to time to draw in great breaths of air, and to drink in the glory of the world about her. "Come," her companion said, "we shall be late to dinner. Did you know I am invited to dine with the Claytons to-night?" "Really!" She tossed back the curls the stiff breeze had blown across her eyes. "Really!" he echoed, in a tone of mockery. "Miss Bright, pardon me, but you--" He paused. "Well?" she said. "What about _you_?" "You look altogether charming." She stopped. He walked on. "You are perfectly incorrigible," she called. "Unless you promise to talk sense, I'll not go a step further with you." He turned. "Sense?" he said with mock seriousness, "that's what I have been talking when in your society all these weeks past. And here you make me play second fiddle to Jack Harding, Wathemah and Bobbie." "And you prefer to be _first_ fiddle?" "Of course!" She seemed in high spirits, ready for a tilt. "Do be sensible," she said gayly.