when least expected; and the coming of Jim's goddess was a case in point.
The whim was out of order, and Jim for once idle, waiting for the blacksmith, who had been sent out from the homestead, and gone back to his forge there with a bit of greasy paper covered with diagrams. Jim sat outside on the ground in the shade of the hut, toes up, arms folded, eyes closed. A clay pipe was between his teeth, but the ashes in the bowl were cold. Jim was asleep, and dreaming of her who was alternately minx and angel in his waking mind, but always angel in his dreams. Suddenly he awoke: and the angel sat not far from him in her saddle.
The pipe fell from Jim's lips as his jaw dropped. Next moment he had sprung to his feet, and a dusky colour flooded his face with one swift wave.
'Good afternoon,' he said, snatching off his wideawake. 'I—I beg your pardon, miss.'
Miss Jenny begged his. 'I have come to be shown how a whim works,' said she.
'Ah, I feared you had forgotten all about that!'
