before him, a scene he did not need to reproduce on canvas to remember ever after;—the mountains in the background, the narrow path sloping down from the near hill to where, on the gray and moss-covered rock, Cyn sat, her dark eyes mellow with the summer sunshine, and the cherry ribbons of her hat giving the requisite touch of color to make the picture perfect.
For a moment he stood in silent admiration, then, taking off his hat, and smoothing down his shaven locks, he said,
"To tell the truth, Cyn, I do hope they will not stroll this way. They are around altogether too much. I never can have a quiet talk with you!"
"I declare, I believe in addition to your being unsentimental, and all that, you are becoming a confirmed grumbler!" exclaimed Cyn, as she caught one of the boughs of the tree overhead and turned a merrily-protesting face towards him.
Jo looked at her, and a queer expression came over his face.
"Am I?" he said, slowly. "Well—would you like to see me sentimental? Would you like to see me make a fool of myself?"
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure! cried Cyn.
"Then," exclaimed Jo, planting himself directly
