'No. Nor like to be. The head of the valley is owned by Gov. Powder; and he has neither means nor inclination to do anything with it. It would be better for me to own it, though. Why, Hazel?'—with a smile. 'Why had you better own it?' 'I want to get control of the whole Hollow as fast as I can; and then, I want to keep the control.' 'Well, but why _don't_ you then?' said Hazel. 'What is the use of waiting?' 'I am not ready to build more mills yet. And there are other reasons, Hazel. Mr. Falkirk thinks I am jeopardizing my money. I do not think so, nor intend it. I believe in the long run I shall prosper. But for the present, and for awhile, I shall be at a disadvantage, it may be; because I am paying larger wages and receiving less profits than my neighbours, and I must keep capital free to bear me and my workmen out through the time of trial—if it is to come. I mean never to have so much capital embarked in the mills, that I should have nothing to carry my hands and myself through a dead calm. You see—' Rollo continued with again a smile,—'being a careful navigator, I mean to carry the wind in my pocket.' Hazel followed his words with attentive eyes as well as ears, and then went off into a brown study, with her chin on her hand. 'Well,' said Rollo, 'what is all this catechism for?' 'It is good practice,' she said, coming out of her abstraction with a laugh. 'I suppose you never knew before that there are two sides to a catechism?' 'Go on,' said Rollo. 'This is the beginning.' 'Beginning—of what?' 'My catechism.' 'It is the end of it, for the present. But it seems to me, Mr. Rollo,— that is, I know it seems to you that I am talking great nonsense,' said Hazel breaking off again. 'Do you live up at Mrs. Boërresen's all the time?' 'For the most part—except when I take a run down to my old home. But yes, I _live_ at Gyda's.' Unspoken questions came up in her eyes, but the words came not, and the eyes themselves went down to the crimson leaf she was thoughtfully drawing through her fingers. Rollo was silent too. Half sitting half lying on the leafy slope, he was busying himself with gathering together all the acorns and acorn-cups within his reach, examining them carefully one by one, and yet with a face that grew grave and became abstracted. More time passed than he knew probably, and Hazel had leisure to come out of her own abstractions and wonder at his. He did not look as if he remembered her presence; and yet a sensible woman has no objection to such indications in a man's face,—even a man that loves her,—as Hazel saw now; the grave purpose, the manly power, the thoughtful reserve. When at last he spoke and looked up, he was grave still. 'Have you any idea what you are to expect, Hazel?' 'Expect!'—Then rather slowly, 'I believe I am not given to expectations.' Then he smiled, but went on, 'Do you remember our talk that evening, last winter?' 'Of course.'