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Jean hid a queer little smile that she could not repress. “Jiminy! I’ll have time in the morning,” he said aloud, and hurried on, not slackening his speed till he came to a sharp turn that took the road against the face of a rugged mountain. He hid his wheel and can in a tangle of rose vine and snowdrop, and stood out on the edge of the steep bluff that overhung the rushing river. There bloomed the island. Near the centre a rocky point was aflame with gorgeous poppies; and Billy could smell the fragrance of the snowy wild heliotrope,—pop-corn the children called it. The words were hardly out of his mouth when the sound of an approaching team was heard. Betty eyed ruefully the silk shawl she had flung on the ground. “Biff on the eye!” she cried..