room, broke into gay little trills of song, George followed her every movement with laughing, admiring eyes.
The new day began with a breakfast served in an atmosphere made doubly appetizing by the aroma of the living pines without and the burning logs within. And again the servants retired expeditiously, again leaving the lovers to a delightful sense of solitude that sent Fay once more into trills of happy song, and out on the porch to fill her lungs afresh with the outer air and to stare upward at a pine-covered hillside that challenged youth to climb it.
"Look, George! It's daring us!" Fay cried. "I accept the challenge. Let's get on our hiking clothes and go to it. You can kiss me next upon the very top."
George, bare of head, hands in pockets, unlighted cigar in teeth, stood eyeing her eager enthusiasm with ardent approval, yet he did not move to follow her inside.
"Well, not just yet, dear," he objected. "Here comes Blakeley."
"Blakeley!" Fay exclaimed in a puzzled voice. "What is he doing here?" she asked anxiously. "Does it mean that anything has—has gone wrong?"
"No! Oh, no, dear!" responded George, touched by her quick anxiety and glad to be able to reassure her. "He is just bringing the mail
