Andrew the Glad

And the experienced ancient succeeded in precipitating the crisis of the

situation with magical promptness, for Caroline sprang to her feet,

turned with a shudder and buried her head in Andrew's hunting coat

somewhere near the left string for cartridge loops. She clung to him in

abject terror.

"Sweetheart!" he exclaimed, giving her a little shake, "it's only a cross

old owl--don't be frightened," and he raised her cheek against his own

and drew her nearer. But Caroline trembled and clung and seemed unable to

face the situation. Andrew essayed further reassurance by turning his

head until his lips pressed a tentative kiss against the curve of her

chin.

"He can't get you," he entreated and managed a still closer embrace.

"Is he still there?" came in a muffled voice from against his neck where

Caroline had again buried her head at a slight crackling from the dark

branches overhead.

"I think he is, bless him!" answered Andrew, and this time the kiss

managed a landing on the warm lips under the eyes raised to his.

And then ensued several breathless moments while the world reeled around

and the vital elemental force that is sometimes cruel, sometimes kind,

turned the wheel of their universe.

"I'm not frightened any more," Caroline at last managed to say as she

prepared to withdraw, not too decisively, from her strong-armed refuge.

"He's still there," warned Andrew Sevier with a happy laugh, and Caroline

yielded again for a second, then drew his arms aside.

"Thank you--I'm not afraid any more--of anything," she said, laughing

into his eyes, "and I really think we had better try to get back to camp

and supper, for I don't hear the dogs any longer. We don't want to be

lost like the 'babes in the woods' and left to die out here, do we?"

"Are you sure we haven't gone and stumbled into heaven, anyway?" demanded

Andrew.

He then proceeded to roll the collar of her sweater higher about her ears

and to pull the long sleeves down over her hands. He even bent to stretch

the garment an inch or two nearer the tops of her boots.

"Are you cold?" he demanded anxiously, for a stiff wind had risen and

blew upon them with icy breath.

"Not a single bit," she answered, submitting herself to his anxious

ministrations with her most engaging six-going-on-seven manner. Then she

caught one of his fumbling hands in hers and pressed it to her cheek for

a moment.

"Now," she said, "we can never be lonely any more, can we? I'm going to

race you down the hill, across the meadow and over three fences to

supper!" And before he could stay her she had flitted through the bushes

and was running on before him, slim and fleet.

He caught her in time to swing her over the first fence and capture an

elusive caress. The second barrier she vaulted and eluded him entirely,

but from the top of the last she bent and gave him his kiss as he lifted

her down. In another moment they had joined the circle around the

crackling fire, where they were greeted with the wildest hilarity and

overwhelmed with food and banter.