"You're a wonder!" he exclaimed, as he watched her deft adjustment of the dishes and furniture. "You're ambidextrous." "I have to be to hold my job," she laughingly replied. "A feller must play all the parts when he's up here." It was still early morning as they mounted and set off up the trail; but Moore's camp was astir, and as McFarlane turned in--much against Berrie's will--the lumberman and his daughter both came out to meet them. "Come in and have some breakfast," said Siona, with cordial inclusiveness, while her eyes met Wayland's glance with mocking glee. "Thank you," said McFarlane, "we can't stop. I'm going to set my daughter over the divide. She has had enough camping, and Norcross is pretty well battered up, so I'm going to help them across. I'll be back to-night, and we'll take our turn up the valley to-morrow. Nash will be here then." Berrie did not mind her father's explanation; on the contrary, she took a distinct pleasure in letting the other girl know of the long and intimate day she was about to spend with her young lover. Siona, too adroit to display her disappointment, expressed polite regret. "I hope you won't get storm-bound," she said, showing her white teeth in a meaning smile. "If there is any sign of a storm we won't cross," declared McFarlane. "We're going round by the lower pass, anyhow. If I'm not here by dark, you may know I've stayed to set 'em down at the Mill." There was charm in Siona's alert poise, and in the neatness of her camp dress. Her dainty tent, with its stools and rugs, made the wilderness seem but a park. She reminded Norcross of the troops of tourists of the Tyrol, and her tent was of a kind to harmonize with the tea-houses on the path to the summit of the Matterhorn. Then, too, something triumphantly feminine shone in her bright eyes and glowed in her softly rounded cheeks. Her hand was little and pointed, not fitted like Berrie's for tightening a cinch or wielding an ax, and as he said "Good-by," he added: "I hope I shall see you again soon," and at the moment he meant it. "We'll return to the Springs in a few days," she replied. "Come and see us. Our bungalow is on the other side of the river--and you, too," she addressed Berrie; but her tone was so conventionally polite that the ranch-girl, burning with jealous heat, made no reply. McFarlane led the way to the lake rapidly and in silence. The splendors of the foliage, subdued by the rains, the grandeur of the peaks, the song of the glorious stream--all were lost on Berrie, for she now felt herself to be nothing but a big, clumsy, coarse-handed tomboy. Her worn gloves, her faded skirt, and her man's shoes had been made hateful to her by that smug, graceful, play-acting tourist with the cool, keen eyes and smirking lips. "She pretends to be a kitten; but she isn't; she's a sly grown-up cat," she bitterly accused, but she could not deny the charm of her personality.