He did wish for a moment that Green, his new friend, might see her--he was proud of her. One night, when they had sat grinding together for mutual assistance, the oil giving out, Green had told him of a cousin of his. Fraisier had said nothing of any girl. He only wished that Green might see the hair of this girl whose name he had foreborne to speak. Good-bye, Minnie! He should be working like a slave all through the burning golden days--let her think of him a little. He should be very lonesome. When he had studied until his eyes smarted and his head swam, there would be nothing pleasant to do, no one pleasant to talk with--she might spare a moment to be sorry for him now and then. He should be back in the fall. Bless the beautiful and beautiful and beautiful hair! Good-bye, Minnie! She so little perished from his mind after their parting that whenever--as Green and he lay under the trees, withdrawn from the world and devoted to arduous studies, keeping off the insects by smoke--Green began talking about that cousin of his, Fraisier became half sick with reminiscence. He could not resist replying by talking--with the finest, shyest reverence always--of Minnie. There was a dreamy solace in talking of her to some one. She described so well, too; so unusually. He had a proud secret assurance that as an incident in a man's life she altogether eclipsed a cousin in interest. "How long is your cousin's hair?" he asked, with assumed casualness, once. Green stared a little, and confessed not having the slightest idea. Fraisier opened his arms as wide as they could go, and said, vaguely blushing, "The young lady I spoke of has hair as long as this!" "Come! I should like to see it!" spoke Green, in such a tone that Fraisier turned a deep, vexed red. He said nothing, but on the next day took his books to a different place, choosing to keep to himself so long as Green did not seek him with a suitable apology. The spot selected by the young men as a meeting ground lay at an equal distance between Green's home and the cottage in which Fraisier had taken up his summer quarters. It was on the skirts of a wood, and, by some accident of the land, often cool when other places were hot. The rolling pasture it commanded was dotted with scrubby evergreens, and crossed by a small brook the cow's hoofs had in some places trodden broad and shallow. It was colored in patches with the frequent pink of clover-heads, surprised here and there with the white of a long-necked, belated daisy. Fraisier took himself to a spot just not so far from the usual haunt but that Green when he came might see him. It was a fair, soft, simmering morning, promising a scorching day. He stretched himself under the trees and lighted a pipe--he had taken to a pipe in place of cigarettes since coming into the wilderness. He composed himself for a serious forenoon's work, deciding that it was much more profitable, after all, to study alone--Green was always digressing.