“Yes; and I confess I don't like to see it that way;” he returned. “I wish they didn't have to be cut. I feel like a murderer,--every one I fall.” She looked down into his eyes, as she returned: “I know you must. YOU would, of course. But, after all, it has to be, and I don't suppose the tree minds so much, do you?” “No; I don't suppose it feels it much.” He laughed, and, throwing aside his hat, he ran his fingers through his tumbled hair for all the world like a schoolboy confused by being caught in some sentimental situation which he finds not only embarrassing, but puzzling as well. “I like you for feeling that way about it, though,” Betty Jo confessed with characteristic frankness. “And I am sure it must be a very good thing for the world that every one is not so intensely practical that they can chop down trees without a pang. And that reminds me: Speaking of the practical, now that the book is finished, what are we going to do with it?” “Send it to some publisher, I suppose,” answered Brian, soberly; “and then, when they have returned it, send it to some other publisher.” “Have you any particular publisher to whom you will send it first?” she asked. “They are all alike, so far as my experience goes,” he returned. “I suppose it would be best if you could take your book East, and interview the publishers personally, don't you think?” Brian shook his head: “I am not sure that it would make any difference, and, in any case, I couldn't do it.” “I know,” said Betty Jo, “and that is what I wanted to get at. Why don't you appoint me your agent, and let me take your book East, and make the publishing arrangements for you?” Brian looked at her with such delighted surprise that Betty Jo smiled back at him well pleased. “Would you really do it?” he demanded, as though he feared she was jesting. “You are sure that you don't mean 'COULD I do it'?”--she returned,--“sure you could trust me?” To which Brian answered enthusiastically: “You could do anything! If you undertake the job of landing a publisher for my stuff, it is as good as done.” “Thank you,” she said, jumping down from the tree-trunk. “Now that we have settled it, let us go to the house and tell Auntie Sue, and I will start in the morning.” As they went down the hill, they discussed the matter further, and, later, at the house, Brian took a moment, when Auntie Sue was in her room, to hand an envelope to his assistant. “Your salary,” he said, hurriedly, “and expense money for the trip.” “Oh!” Betty Jo's exclamation was one of surprise. Then she said, in her most matter-of-fact, businesslike tone: “Thank you. I will render a statement of my account, but--” For once, Betty Jo seemed at a loss for words. “You don't mind if I ask--is--is this money--?” Brian's face was a study. “Yes,” he said, “it is really Auntie Sue's money; but it is all I have, and I can't return it to her--without her knowing--so I--” Betty Jo interrupted: “I understand. It is all we can do,--forgive me?”