Mr. Underwood, who did not believe in taking what he called the "women

folks" into his confidence regarding business affairs, looked

quizzically into the laughing face beside him.

"Didn't I hear you arranging some sort of a musical programme with Mr.

Darrell?" he inquired.

"Yes; what has that to do with your engagement?" she queried.

"Nothing whatever; only you carry out your engagement and I will mine,

and we'll compare notes afterwards."

For an instant her face sobered; then catching sight of her father's

eyes twinkling under their beetling brows, she laughingly withdrew from

his side, saying,-"That's all very well; you can score one this time, papa, but don't you

think we won't come out pretty near even in the end!"

Upon learning from Darrell that the violin she expected him to use was

in his room at the mining camp, she then proposed a stroll to the summit

of the pine-clad mountain for the following afternoon, and having

secured his promise that he would bring the violin with him on his next

visit, she waltzed gayly across the floor, turned on the light, and

seating herself at the piano soon had the room ringing with music and

laughter while she sang a number of college songs.

To Darrell she seemed more child than woman, and he was constantly

impressed with her unlikeness to her father or aunt. She seemed to have

absolutely none of their self-repression. Warm-hearted, sympathetic, and

demonstrative, every shade of feeling betrayed itself in her sensitive,

mobile face and in the brown eyes, one moment pensive and wistful, the

next luminous with sympathy or dancing with merriment.

As Darrell took leave of Mrs. Dean that night, he said, looking frankly

into her calm, kindly face,-"I am very sorry if I wounded your feelings this afternoon; it was

wholly unintentional, I assure you."

"You did not in the least," she answered; "it is so long since I have

been called by that name it took me by surprise, but it sounded very

pleasant to me. My boy, if he had lived, would have been just about your

age."

"It seemed pleasant to me to call you 'mother,'" said Darrell; "it made

me feel less like an outsider."

"You can call me so as often as you wish; you are no outsider here; we

consider you one of ourselves," she responded, with more warmth in her

tones than he had ever heard before.

The following morning Darrell accompanied the ladies to church. After

lunch he lounged for an hour or more in one of the hammocks on the

veranda, listening alternately to Mr. Underwood's comments as he

leisurely smoked his pipe, and to the faint tones of a mandolin coming

from some remote part of the house. Mr. Underwood grew more and more

abstracted, the mandolin ceased, and Darrell, soothed by his

surroundings to a temporary forgetfulness of his troubles, swung gently

back and forth in a sort of dreamy content. After a while, Kate

Underwood appeared, dressed for a walk, and, accompanied by Duke, the

two set forth for their mountain ramble, for the time as light-hearted

as two children.




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