"You needn't talk! Dad's only ten years older than you are." She leaned her cheek on her hand, she brushed back a little stray tendril of midnight hair from her dark eyes, and considered him thoughtfully. "Why, John Wesley, I've known you nearly all my life and you don't look much older now than when I first saw you." "That was in Virginia City. You were just six years old and your pony ran away with you. We were great old chums for a month or so. The next time I saw you was--" "At Bakersfield--at mother's funeral," said the girl softly. "Then you came to Prescott, and you had lost your thumb in the meantime; and I was Little Next Door to you--" "And Prescott and me, we agreed it was best for both of us that I should go away." "Yes; and when you came back you were going to stay. Why didn't you stay, John Wesley?" "I think," said Pringle reflectively, "that I have forgotten that." "Do you know, John Wesley, I have never been back to any place we have left once? And of all the people I have ever known, you are the only one I have ever lost track of and found again. And you're always just the same old John Wesley; always gay and cheerful; nearly always in trouble; always strong and resourceful--" "How true!" said Pringle. "Yes, yes; go on!" "Well, you are! And you're so--so reliable; like Faithful John in the fairy story. You're different from anyone else I know. You're a good boy; when you are grown up you shall have a yoke of oxen, over and above your wages." "This is very gratifying indeed," observed Pringle. "But--a sweetly solemn thought comes to me. You were going to tell me about another boy--the onliest little boy?" "He's not a boy," said Stella, flushing hotly. "He's a man--a man's man. You'll like him, John Wesley--he's just your kind. I'm not going to tell you. You'll see him at our house, with the others. And he'll be the very one you'd pick out for me yourself. Of course you'll want to tease me by pretending to guess someone else; but you'll know which one he is, without me telling you. He stands out apart from all other men in every way. Come on, John Wesley--it's time to go down to the station." Pringle caught step with her. "And how long--if a reliable old faithful John may ask--before you become Stella Some-One-Else?" "At Christmas. And I am a very lucky girl, John. What an absurd convention it is that people are never supposed to congratulate the girl--as if no man was ever worth having! Silly, isn't it?" "Very silly. But then, it's a silly world." "A delightful world," said Stella, her eyes sparkling. "You don't know how happy I am. Or perhaps you do know. Tell me honestly, did you ever l--like anyone, this way?" "I refuse to answer, by advice of counsel," said John Wesley. "I'll say this much, though. X marks no spot where any Annie Laurie gave me her promise true."