Eyllen was now herself once more. Tilting her head backwards she measured the sun with her eyes. "It is time we returned now, Father," she said, "for we will have flowers to gather by handfuls. There is no such thing for us as reaching home empty handed. It would never do. You see I have been much at this work, and know how to manage." "Right you are, child, we will do so." "Here is your walking stick, Father," holding it out to him. "Bah! I do not need it! I am now strong." "But, Father, please use the stick, because you must not be grown strong too rapidly. It may cause comment, and you must not excite suspicion of our good fortune, and why we came here today. Leave the stick where you will tomorrow, but take it with you today," she urged laughingly, and with eyes twinkling. "To be sure,--to be sure. I forgot. I will not expose your secret, child; have no fear." With that they turned their faces toward home. Flowers nodded gaily on all sides, and soon replaced the luncheon in their basket. Mosses, green and velvety, sank beneath the pressure of each foot-fall, and a brood of eaglets tested their pinions near the crag above the trail. Right glad was Fedor Michaelovitz before reaching home that he had listened to Eyllen and carried his walking stick. Without its support he would have found much more tedious the long walk from the mountains. A hot supper, a pipe full of tobacco and a restful evening, however, restored him, especially as Shismakoff made his appearance all spick and span after his day's work on the water. The recital of his adventures with a school of whale in mid-ocean, and the capture of one of them, occupied a good share of the evening. Eyllen's father asked many questions relative to the subject. To these were supplemented the queries of the youngster, whose large dark eyes fairly stood out upon his cheeks with wonder at the tale. To say that the boy's admiration for Shismakoff was thereafter greatly augmented would be speaking much too mildly. From that day, the young man was looked upon by him as a hero who needed only a following of soldiers to make him a real general. In this way the evening passed with slight reference to the tramp of Eyllen and her father in the mountains, much to the girl's satisfaction. Her mind was now relieved. Work upon her baskets was again taken up, and perseveringly done. Michaelovitz, with walking stick in hand, tramped among the hills alone often, considering it the affair of no one that a pick and shovel did honest duty in his hands during the day, and lay secreted beneath the rocks near the little spring when he returned to his cabin at night-fall. If his capacious coat pockets contained bread slices in the morning, it was empty by evening, and his hands full of blossoms then quickly pacified the children he met in the village.