The earliest frost of late September had brought its tang to the air with a snappy assertion of the changing season, when Parish Thornton first broached to Dorothy an idea that, of late, had been constantly in his mind. Somehow that morning with its breath of shrewd chill seemed to mark a dividing line. Yesterday had been warm and languorous and the day before had been hot. The ironweed had not long since been topped with the dusty royalty of its vagabond purple, and the thistledown had drifted along air currents that stirred light and warm. "Honey," said the man, gravely, as he slipped his arm about Dorothy's waist on that first cold morning, when they were standing together by the grave of her grandfather, "I hain't talked much erbout hit--but I reckon my sister's baby hes done hed hits bornin' afore now." "I wonder," she mused, as yet without suspicion of the trend of his suggestions, "how she come through hit--all by herself thetaway?" The man's face twitched with one of those emotional paroxysms that once in a long while overcame his self-command. Then it became a face of shadowed anxiety and his voice was heavy with feeling. "I've done been ponderin' thet day an' night hyar of late, honey. I've got ter fare over thar an' find out." Dorothy started and caught quickly at his elbow, but at once she removed her hand and looked thoughtfully away. "Kain't ye write her a letter?" she demanded. "Hit's walkin' right inter sore peril fer ye ter cross ther state line, Cal." "An' yit," he answered with convincing logic, "I'd ruther trust ter my own powers of hidin' out in a country whar I knows every trail an' every creek bed, then ter take chances with a letter. Ef I wrote one hit would carry a post-office mark on ther envellop ter tell every man whence hit come." She was too wise, too sympathetic, and too understanding of that clan loyalty which would deny him peace until he fulfilled his obligation, to offer arguments in dissuasion, but she stood with trouble riffles in her deep eyes until at last she asked: "When did ye aim ter start--over yon?" "Hit ought ter be right soon now, while travellin's good. Come snowfall hit'll git ter be right slavish journeyin'--but I don't 'low ter tarry there long. I kain't noways be content away from ye." The thoughts that were occupying Dorothy were for the most part silent ones but at length she inquired: "Why don't ye bring her back with ye, ter dwell hyar with us--her an' ther baby?" Thornton shook his head, but his heart warmed because she had asked. "Hit wouldn't do--jest yit. Folks mout seek ter trace me by follerin' her. I kin slip in thar an' see her, though, an' mebby comfort her some small degree--an' then slip back home ergin without no man's knowin' I've ever been thar." Instinctively the wife shuddered. "Ef they _did_ find out!" she exclaimed in a low voice, and the man nodded in frank comprehension.