But here Miss Euphemia, with rising color and slight acerbity of voice, was not aware that she was “fixed to stay” anywhere, least of all when she was in the way. More than that, she MUST say--although perhaps it made no difference, and she ought not to say it--that she was not in the habit of intruding upon gentlemen who plainly gave her to understand that her company was not desirable. She did not know why she said this--of course it could make no difference to anybody who didn't, of course, care--but she only wanted to say that she only came here because her dear friend, her adopted mother,--and a better woman never breathed,--had come, and had asked her to stay. Of course, Mrs. Sol was an intruder herself--Mr. Sol was an intruder--they were all intruders: she only wondered that Mr. Pinkney had borne with them so long. She knew it was an awful thing to be here, taking care of a poor--poor, helpless woman; but perhaps Mr. Rand's BROTHER might forgive them, if he couldn't. But no matter, she would go--Mr. Sol would go--ALL would go; and then, perhaps, Mr, Rand-- She stopped breathless; she stopped with the corner of her apron against her tearful hazel eyes; she stopped with--what was more remarkable than all--Rand's arm actually around her waist, and his astonished, alarmed face within a few inches of her own. “Why, Miss Euphemia, Phemie, my dear girl! I never meant anything like THAT,” said Rand earnestly. “I really didn't now! Come now!” “You never once spoke to me when I sat down,” said Miss Euphemia, feebly endeavoring to withdraw from Rand's grasp. “I really didn't! Oh, come now, look here! I didn't! Don't! There's a dear--THERE!” This last conclusive exposition was a kiss. Miss Euphemia was not quick enough to release herself from his arms. He anticipated that act a full half-second, and had dropped his own, pale and breathless. The girl recovered herself first. “There, I declare, I'm forgetting Mrs. Sol's coffee!” she exclaimed hastily, and, snatching up the coffee-pot, disappeared. When she returned, Rand was gone. Miss Euphemia busied herself demurely in clearing up the dishes, with the tail of her eye sweeping the horizon of the summit level around her. But no Rand appeared. Presently she began to laugh quietly to herself. This occurred several times during her occupation, which was somewhat prolonged. The result of this meditative hilarity was summed up in a somewhat grave and thoughtful deduction as she walked slowly back to the cabin: “I do believe I'm the first woman that that boy ever kissed.” Miss Euphemia staid that day and the next, and Rand forgot his embarrassment. By what means I know not, Miss Euphemia managed to restore Rand's confidence in himself and in her, and in a little ramble on the mountain-side got him to relate, albeit somewhat reluctantly, the particulars of his rescue of Mornie from her dangerous position on the broken trail.