"You know that rich Melrose girl's gone back to Topeka?" "Oh, yes," Marjie spoke indifferently; "she went last evening, I was told." "Well, this morning Phil Baronet went after her, left Springvale for good and all. O'mie says so, and he knows all Phil knows. Marjie, she's rich; and Phil won't marry nobody but a rich girl. You know you ain't got what you had when your pa was alive." Yes, Marjie knew that. "Well he's gone anyhow, and I don't care." "Why should you care?" Marjie could not help the retort. She was stung to the quick in every nerve. Lettie's face blazed with anger. "Or you?" she stormed. "He was with me last. I can prove it, and a lot more things you'd never want to hear. But you'll never be his girl again." Marjie turned toward the cliff just as O'mie appeared through the bushes and stepped behind Lettie. "Oh, good-evening, lovely ladies; delighted to meet you," he hailed them. Marjie smiled at him, but Lettie gave a sudden start. "Oh, O'mie, what are you forever tagging me for?" She spoke angrily and without another word to Marjie she hurried down the hill. "I tag!" O'mie grinned. "I'd as soon tag Satan, only I've just got to do it." But his face changed when he turned to Marjie. "Little girl, I overheard the lady. Lovely spirit that! I just can't help dancin' attendance on it. But, Marjie, I've come up here, knowin' Phil had gone and wasn't in my way, 'cause I wanted to show you somethin'. Yes, he's gone. Left early this mornin'. Never mind that, right now." He led the way through the bushes and they sat down together. I cannot say what Marjie thought as she looked out on the landscape I had watched in loneliness the night before. It was O'mie, and not his companion, who told me long afterwards of this evening. "I thought you were away on a ten days' vacation, O'mie. Dever said you were." She could not bear the silence. "I'm on a tin days' vacation, but I'm not away, Marjie, darlin'," O'mie replied. "Oh, O'mie, don't joke. I can't stand it to-night." Her face was white and her eyes were full of pain. "Indade, I'm not jokin'. I came up here to show you somethin' and to tell you somethin'." He took an old note book from his pocket and opened it to where a few brown blossoms lay flatly pressed between the leaves. "Thim's not pretty now, Marjie, but the day I got 'em they was dainty an' pink as the dainty pink-cheeked girl whose brown curls they was wreathed about. These are the flowers Phil Baronet put on your hair out in the West Draw by the big cottonwood one April evenin' durin' the war; the flowers Jean Pahusca kissed an' throwed away. But I saved 'em because I love you, Marjie." She shivered and bent her head. "Oh, not like thim two ornery tramps who had these blossoms 'fore I got 'em, but like I'd love a sister, if I had one; like Father Le Claire loves me. D'ye see?" "You are a dear, good brother, O'mie," Marjie murmured, without lifting her head.