"Don't you dare make fun of my new business. I'm in it for scalps and have no time for joking. Of course I want to put this make in stock. I never took hold of so warm a hand on so cold a night. The warmth comes right through your glove and mine to my hand, runs up my arm, and stirs up my circulation generally. It was running a little cold with some of the things Miss Drummond was telling me." "What could they be?" "About how all the rest of you know each other so well. She described all sorts of good times you have all had together on this river in the summer. It seems odd that Benson never told me about any of them while we were together at college." "They have happened mostly in the last two summers, since Mr. Benson left college. We always spend at least part of our summers here, and we have had worlds of fun on the river and beside it--and in it." "I'm glad I'm a business man in Eastman. I can imagine what this river is like in summer. It's wonderful to-night, isn't it? Let's skate on down to the mouth and out to sea. What do you say?" "A beautiful plan. We have a good start; we must make time or it will be moonset before we come to the sea." "This is a glorious stroke; let's hit it up a little, swing a little farther--and make for the mouth of the river. No talking till we come in sight. We're off!" It was ten miles to the mouth of the river, as they both understood, so this was nonsense of the most obvious sort. But the imagination took hold of them and they swung away on over the smooth, shining floor with the long vigorous strokes which are so exhilarating to the accomplished skater. In silence they flew, only the warm, clasped hands making a link between them, their faces turned straight toward the great golden disk in the eastern heavens. Richard was feeling that he could go on indefinitely, and was exulting in his companion's untiring progress, when he felt her slowing pull upon his hands. "Tired?" he asked, looking down at her. "Not much, but we've all the way back to go--and we ought not to be away so long." "Oughtn't we? I'd like to be away forever--with you!" She looked straight up at him. His eyes were like black coals in the dim light. His hands would have tightened on hers, but she drew them away. "Oh, no, you wouldn't, Mr. Richard Kendrick," said she, as quietly as one can whose breath comes with some difficulty after long-sustained exertion. "By the time we reached--even the mouth of the river, you'd be tired of my company." "Should I? I think not. I've thought of nothing but you since the day I saw you first." "Really? That's--how long? Was it November when you came to help Uncle Calvin? This is February. And you've never spent so much as a whole hour alone with me. You see, you don't even know me. What a foolish thing to say to a girl you barely know!"