“Bess! don’t take me if there is any danger of mountain lions, or bears, or—or—Indians. Father made me promise to come back with my hair all on and with my body intact,” Berenice tried to say seriously, but her sparkling eyes belied her. “How about your heart, Miss Lady? Did he warn you about that also?” laughed Bess, as she linked her arm through her friend’s and led her upstairs into her room. “How perfectly dear, Bess! No wonder you have been so happy and contented here!” “Do look at those wonderful mountains, that great expanse of water, those towering trees, that—oh! everything!” ejaculated the stranger, as she gazed out of the opened window. “Isn’t it magnificent?” “Now, do you wonder at all the ravings my letters contained, Berenice?” “No, I do not, and I do not wonder that you wrote that you could stay here always.” “Always!” thought Bess, “always.” And yet soon would she leave this sublime beauty, and she could feast her heart only upon its memory. Could she make the sacrifice? Bess left her friend and hastened to the dining-room to be of assistance there. She cautioned Mrs. West against saying anything at all concerning Mr. Davis, until she might announce her engagement to Miss Morton. How deeply Mrs. West and Bess regretted that the “boys” would not reach home until tomorrow. “And yet,” said Bess, “I am glad to get a chance for a word or two before James comes.” A bunch of rose-berries, large and scarlet, intermingled with the white berries on stems of buck-bush, graced the center of the table, while at each plate lay a shining spray of Oregon grape leaves. After the simple meal was finished the girls arose to leave the room. Berenice reached to pluck some of the rose-berries for her hair, when she abruptly gathered Mrs. West into her arms. She put her cheek against the soft, white hair and kissed her. Then, looking into the woman’s dark eyes: “My dear mother’s hair was like this,” she said, stroking it gently. “Bess tried to tell me in her letters of her ‘little Mother,’ but she failed. You are dear—more dear than one can say, or tell, or even feel.” Mrs. West’s only reply to this unexpected declaration from the dignified stranger was a firm pressure of the girl’s hands. She watched the pair as they descended the steps and wandered off toward the lake shore, where she knew Bess sought her favorite retreat.