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"By Jove, you know, you've about done it," he says, bestowing upon Geoffrey's shoulder a friendly pat that rather takes the breath out of that young man's body. "Gave you credit for more common sense. Why, such a proceeding as this is downright folly. You are bound to pay for your fun, you know, sooner or later." "Dance no more to-night with that fellow," he says quickly, as they get outside. Then Dorothy, going up to the new-comer, removes her hat from her head, and pats her cheeks, and tells her with one of her loveliest smiles that she has "such a delicious color, dearest! just like a wee bit of fresh apple-blossom!".

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"Yes," she says, with cheeks colored to a rich carmine, and flashing eyes, and lips that quiver in spite of all her efforts at control, "that is the bit of heather you gave me, and that is the grass that tied it. I kept it because it reminded me of a day when I was happy. Now," bitterly, "I no longer care for it: for the future it can only bring back to me an hour when I was grieved and wounded." "I said so," murmurs Mona, meekly. Long ago, one winter, the buffalo disappeared. The snow was deep, so deep that the people could not move in search of the buffalo; so the hunters went as far as they could up and down the river-bottoms and in the ravines, and killed deer and elk and other small game, and when these were all killed or driven away the people began to starve. "My sweet angel!" says her lover, pressing her to his heart. And when he says this he is not so far from the truth, for her tender simplicity and perfect faith and trust bring her very near to heaven!.