Missy had made straight for the nearest and the thickest shelter, which happened to underlie that dark jagged rim of river-timber at which old Teesdale was so fond of gazing. She had thrown herself face downward on a bank beside the sluggish brown stream; her fingers were interwoven under her face, her thumbs stuck deep into her ears. So she did not hear the footsteps until they were close beside her, when she sat up suddenly with a face of blank terror. It was only John William. “Who did you think it was?” said he, smiling as he sat down beside her. Missy was trembling dreadfully. “How was I to know?” she answered nervously. “It might have been a bushranger, mightn't it?” “Well, hardly,” replied John William, as seriously as though the question had been put in the best of good faith. And it now became obvious that he also had something on his mind and nerves, for he shifted a little further away from Missy, and sat frowning at the dry brown grass, and picking at it with his fingers. “Anyhow, you startled me,” said Missy, as she arranged the carroty fringe that had been shamefully dishevelled a moment before. “I am very easily startled, you see.” “I am very sorry. I do apologise, I'm sure! And I'll go away again this minute, Missy, if you like.” He got to his knees with the words, which were spoken in a more serious tone than ever. “Oh, no, don't go away. I was only moping. I am glad you've come.” “Thank you, Missy.” “But now you have come, you've got to talk and cheer me up. See? There's too many things to think about on a Christmas Day—when—when you're so far away from everybody.” John William agreed and sympathised. “The fact is I had something to show you,” he added; “that's why I came.” “Then show away,” said Missy, forcing a smile. “Something in a cardboard box, eh?” “Yes. Will you open it and tell me how you like it?” He handed her the box that he had taken out of his breast-pocket. Missy opened it and produced a very yellow bauble of sufficiently ornate design. “Well, I'm sure! A bangle!” “Yes; but what do you think of it?” asked John William anxiously. He had also blushed very brown. “Oh, of course I think it's beautiful—beautiful!” exclaimed Missy, with unmistakable sincerity. “But who's it for? That's what I want to know,” she added, as she scanned him narrowly. “Can't you guess?” “Well, let's see. Yes—you're blushing! It's for your young woman, that's evident.” John William edged nearer. “It's for the young lady—the young lady I should like to be mine—only I'm so far below her,” he began in a murmur. Then he looked at her hard. “Missy, for God's sake forgive me,” he cried out, “but it's for you!” “Nonsense!” “But I mean it. I got it last night. Do, please, have it.” “No,” said Missy firmly. “Thank you ever so very awfully much; but you must take it back.” And she held it out to him with a still hand.