Just now the tender impulse of first love was all Ray felt or considered. This girl of sweet sixteen and utter confidence in him was so enthralling in spite of her crude speech and lack of education, her kisses were so much his to take whenever chance offered, and himself such a young hero in her sight, that he thought of naught else. In this, or at least so far as his reasoning went, they were like two grown-up children entering a new world--the enchanted garden of love. Or like two souls merged into one in impulse, yet in no wise conscious why or for what all-wise purpose. For them alone the sun shone, birds sang, leaves rustled, flowers bloomed, and the blue lake rippled. For them alone was all this charming chance given, with all that made it entrancing. For them alone was life, love, and lips that met in ecstasy. Oh, wondrous beatitude! Oh, heaven-born joy! Oh, divine illusion that builds the world anew, and building thus, believes its secret safe! But Old Cy, wise old observer of all things human, from the natural attraction of two children to the philosophy of content, saw and understood. Not for worlds would he hint this to Angie or Martin. Full well he knew how soon this "weavin' o' the threads o' affection," would be frowned upon by them; but he loved children as few men do. This summer-day budding of romance would end in a few weeks, these two were happy now--let them remain so, and perhaps in Chip's case it might prove the one best incentive to her own improvement. And now as he watched them day by day, came another feeling. Homeless all his life so far, and for many years a wanderer, these two had awakened the home-building impulse in his. He could not have a home himself, he could only help them to one in the future, and to that end and purpose he now bent his thought. The weeks there with Ray had opened Old Cy's heart to him. Even sooner, and with greater force, had Chip's helpless condition made the same appeal, and as he watched her wistful eyes and willing ways, in spite of her speech and in spite of her origin, he saw in her the making of a good wife and mother. Her heritage, as he now guessed, was of the worst, her education was yet to be obtained; but for all that, a girl--no, a child--of sixteen who would dare sixty miles of wilderness alone to save herself from a shameful fate, was of the metal and fibre to win, and more than that, deserved the best that life afforded. How he could at present aid her, he saw not. A few years of help and time to study must be given her, and as Old Cy realized how much must be done for her and how uncertain it was whether Angie would find time, or be willing to do it, then and there he determined to share that duty with her.