latest poem. The girl's heart was ill attuned for social intercourse. As she walked across the fields, the fragrance of the fresh-mown grass had no charm for her.
Catching sight of Malduke at work in the field, she turned aside and, further on, sat for a moment on one of the benches, set at every few hundred yards beside the unfenced roadways. Scarce had she seated herself than she observed a high dog-cart, with tandem team, that she knew well, rattling along towards the spot where she sat. It was too late to move.
Could she believe her eyes? There sat Travers with the laughing, evidently delighted, Eva Dowling beside him. Since so often Gwyneth had scolded him for noticing her in public, the youth did not draw rein, but, smiling, doffed his hat, while Eva waved her hand towards the girl. A cloud of dust from the horses' feet circling at that moment into a little whirlwind, enveloped her. The girl's heart beat fast. Had the horrid sister instructed him to insult her? Was he subservient? Already interested in this child of the forest he had picked up.
"Excuse my intrusion, Miss Elms," said Malduke, appearing at this juncture with a hay-fork over his shoulder.
"I do not excuse it. Be careful." Then, almost savagely, "You remember what happened last time we met!"
"I have something very important to tell you," he urged, "something you ought to know. Gwyneth," he continued, with earnestness, "though you rebuff me, I cannot calmly see you scorned by another."
"What do you mean?" said she, her cheeks flushing.
"I mean this," Malduke answered hurriedly. "Travers Courtenay has long hesitated as to whether to give his affections to you or to Miss Dowling. His friends, as
