On and on they walked until at length they came to an abrupt rise in the ground. Bess led the way around the rocks to a huge boulder, softened by mosses and lichens, projecting far out from its supporting rocks. They bent their heads as they entered the partial enclosure, and were soon seated upon large, smooth blocks which had been sawed from a huge pine log. One had been utilized for a table, upon which lay several worn magazines. A thick carpet of pine needles which Bess had gathered and strewn in her den covered the floor. The opening was directly toward the lake, whose waters were now splashing with whitened foam upon the rocky shore. “There—isn’t this a ‘really’ den? When I kill a bear and a mountain lion I shall place the skins in here; and the antlers from a buck shall be hung above the door.” “What a splendid place to come and dream!” “Yes,” answered Bess. “Henry West helped me to make the chairs, or rather the seats. It was warm work pulling on the big saw, but so competent did I prove that he offered to let me saw the winter’s supply of wood,” she laughed softly. Wrapping a blanket about herself and choosing a comfortable seat, Berenice Morton sat anxiously waiting for Bess to begin relating the million important themes, but especially “the first three of whom.” For several moments Bess gazed intently over the lake, huddled snugly in the folds of her blanket. Then, unfastening the beaded belt and withdrawing it from beneath its cover, pulling it slowly through her fingers, she said: “You—you will surely like Henry West.” She paused for a moment, the while deeply thinking; then continued, deliberately: “So generous, thoughtful, kind; so tender with his mother; so human, so different, so—” and again her thoughts wandered in search of words fit to express her encomium. “Do you care so much for him, dear? More than for anyone else?” asked the interested listener. “Oh!—I—you see, Berenice—it was because of this belt, he saved my life,” came in an evasive reply. Bess felt a wave of color surge over her face, and the blood in her heart began to pound violently as she briefly related the story of her perilous adventure and rescue. “James and Henry West will reach home some time tomorrow, Berenice. James has tried to appear unconcerned ever since he knew you were coming this fall,” she laughed, “and I am inclined to believe that perhaps Miss Berenice Morton will be just a little de-e-lighted, too, when the morrow comes.” Bess gave her friend an impulsive squeeze that made reply an impossibility. “Well—I’ve heard of Henry West and also concerning James Fletcher; what, pray, is the third item of interest?” asked Miss Morton, when she had again resumed her comfortable position.