whole of him from head to foot as pale as a plaster cast with dust, except his bright blue eyes, which had hard, dark circles around them.

«The train is coming,» I warned him. «She is coming! A la bonne heure!» he cried, and was off on a run, and whistled a car that was going up Main street to the natatorium; and I knew that in ten minutes he would be reveling in the plunge, while I should be making the best of this beautiful crisis of his inventing to Miss Comyn.»>

My dear, they are the prettiest pair! Providence, no doubt, designed them for each other, if he had not made this unpardonable break. She has a spirit of her own, has Miss Kitty, and if she cried up-stairs alone with

me,tears of anger and mortification, it struck me, rather than of heart-grief,-1 will venture she shed no tears before him.

As Mr. Michael Harshaw did not arrive, we gave Mr. Cecil his opportunity, as promised, of speech with his victim and judge. He talked to her in the little sitting-room after dinner-as long as she would listen to him, apparently. We heard her come flying out with a sort of passionate suddenness, as if she had literally run away from his words. But he had followed her, and for an instant I saw them together in the hall. His poor young face was literally burning; perhaps it was only sunburn, but I fancied she had been giving him a metaphorical drubbing--«ragging,» as Tom would call it--worse than Lady Anne gave Richard III.

She was still in a fine Shaksperian temper when I carried her off up-stairs. Reserves were impossible between us; her right to any privacy in her own affairs had been given away from the start; that was one of the pleasing features of the situation.

« Marry him! marry him!» she cried. "That impertinent, meddlesome boy, that I have known all my life, and never could have suspected of such work as this! That false, dishonorable-->>

«Go slow, dear,» I said. «I don't think he 's quite so bad as that.»

«And what do I want with him! And what do you think he tells me, Mrs. Daly? And whether there's any truth in him, how do I know? He declares it was not Michael Harshaw who sent for me at all! The message, all the messages, were from him. In that case I have been decoyed over here to marry a man who not only never asked me to come, but who stood by and let me be hoaxed in this shameful way, and now leaves me to be persecuted by this one's ridiculous offers of marriage, as if I belonged to all or any of the Harshaws, whichever one came first! Michael may not even know that I am here," she added in a lower key. «If Cecil Harshaw was capable of doing what he has done by his own confession, it would be little more to intercept my answers to his forgeries.>>

That was true, I said. It was quite possible the young man lied. She would, of course, give Mr. Michael Harshaw a chance to tell his story.

<< I cannot believe,» said the distracted girl, << that Michael would lend himself, even passively, to such an abominable trick. Could any one believe it-of his worst enemy!»

Impossible, I agreed. She must believe nothing till she had heard from her lover.

"But if Michael did not know it,» she mused, with a piteous blush, « then Cecil Harshaw must have sent me that money himself -the insolence! And after that to ask me to marry him!»

Men were fearfully primitive still, after all that we had done for them, I reminded her, especially in their notions of love-making. Their intentions were generally better than their methods. No great harm had been done, for that matter. A letter, if written that night, would reach Mr. Michael Harshaw at his ranch not later than the next night. All these troubles could wait till the real Mr. Harshaw had been heard from. My husband would see that her letter reached him promptly, and in the mean time Mr. Cecil need not be told that we were proving his little story.

VOL. LII.-13.

I was forced to humor her own theory of her case; but I have no idea, myself, that Cecil Harshaw has not told the truth. He does not look like a liar, to begin with, and how silly to palm off an invention for to-day which to-morrow would expose!

Tom is still talking and talking. I really must interfere and give Mr. Cecil a chance to go. It is quite too late to look for the other one. If he comes at this hour, there is nothing he can do but go to bed.

.. Well, the young man has gone, and Tom is shutting up the house, and I hope the bride is asleep, though I doubt it. Have I told you how charming she is? Not so discouragingly tall or so classic as the Du Maurier goddess who has posed for the English society girl so long; not so very much so either, but «comfy,» much more « comfy,» to my mind. Her nose is rudimentary, rather, which does n't seem to prevent her having a mind of her own, though noses are said to have it all to say as to force of character. Her upper lip has the most fascinating little pout; her chin is full and emotional-but these are emotional times; and there is a beautiful finish about her throat and hands and wrists. She looks more dressed in a shirtwaist, in which she came down to dinner, her trunk not having come, than some of us do in the best we have. Her clothes are very fresh and recent, to a woman of Idaho; but she does not wear her pretty ears «cachées,» I am glad to say. They are very pretty, and one the left one-is burned pure crimson from sitting next the window of her section all the way from Omaha.

But why do I write all this nonsense at twelve o'clock at night, when all I need say by way of description is that we want her to stay with us, indefinitely if necessary, and let her countrymen and lovers go to-their ranch on the Snake River!

WHAT do you suppose those wretches were arguing about in the dining-room last night, over their whisky and soda? Sentiment was «not in it, as they would say. They were talking up a scheme-a scheme that Tom has had in mind ever since he first saw the Thousand Springs six years ago, when he had the Snake River placer-mining fever. It was of no use then, because electrical transmission was in its infancy, its long-distance capacities undreamed of. But Harshaw was down there fishing last summer, and he was able to satisfy the only doubt Tom has had as to some natural feature of the scheme-I don't know what, but Harshaw has settled it, and is as

wild as Tom himself about the thing. Also he wants to put into it all the money he can recover out of his cousin's ranch. (I should n't think the future of that partnership would be exactly happy!) And now they propose to take hold of it, together, and at once.

Harshaw, who, it seems, is enough of an engineer to be able to run a level, will go down with Tom and make the preliminary surveys. Tom will work up the plans and estimates, and prepare a report, which Harshaw will take to London, where his father has influence in the City, and the sanguine child sees himself placing it in the twinkling of an eye. Tom made no secret with me of their scheme, and I fell upon him at once. «You are not taking advantage of that innocent in your own house!» I said.

«Do you take him for an innocent? He has about as shrewd a business head-but he has no money, anyhow. I shall have to put up for the whole trip.>>

«To be honest, that was just what I had feared; but it did n't sound well to say so. Tom is always putting up for things that never come to anything-for us.

He tried to propitiate me with the news that I was to go with them.

"And what do you propose to do with our guest?»>

«Take her along. Why not? It's as hard a trip as any I know of, for the distance. Her troubles won't keep her awake, nor spoil her appetite, after the first day's ride.»>

«I don't know but you are right,» I said; << but wild horses could n't drag her if he goes. And how about the other Harshaw-the one she has promised to marry?»

«She is n't going to marry him, is she? I should think she had gone about far enough, to meet that fellow half-way.>>

Even if she was n't going to marry him, I said, it might be civil to tell him so. She had listened to his accuser; she could hardly refuse to listen to him.

<< I think, myself, the dear boy has skipped the country," said Tom, who is unblushingly on Cecil's side. «If he has n't, the letter will fetch him. She will have time to settle his case before we start.»>

<< Before we start! And when do you propose to start?» I should n't have been surprised if he had said «to-morrow »; but he considerately gives me until Thursday.

The truth is, Lou, it is years and years since I have been on one of these wild-goose chases with Tom. I have no more faith in this than in any of the other schemes, but who wants to be forever playing the part of Wis

dom «that cries in the streets and no man regards her »? One might as well be merry over one's folly, to say nothing of the folly of other people. I confess I am dying to go; but of course nothing can be decided till the recreant bridegroom has been heard from.

This morning, when I went to Kitty's door for her letter, I found she had n't written it. She made me come in while she « confessed,» as she said.

«I could n't submit to the facts last night,» she faltered. «I had to pretend that I thought he did n't know; but of course he does; he must. I wrote him from home before I started, and again from New York. I can't suppose that Cecil would intercept my letters. He is not a stage villain. No; I must face the truth. But how can I ever tell it to mama!» « We will arrange all that by and by,» I assured her (but I don't see myself how she can tell the truth about this transaction to anybody, her mother least of all, who would be simply wild if she knew how the girl has been betrayed and insulted, among utter strangers); meantime I begged her to promise me that she would not waste

She interrupted me quickly. «I have wasted enough, I think. No; don't be afraid for me, Mrs. Daly, and for Heaven's sake don't pity me!»>

«Then you need n't expect me,» said Tom. «Cecy and I will dine at the Louvre.» And I would give a good deal if I could dine there too, or anywhere but with these extraordinary lovers.

I went out to meet the real Harshaw, embarrassed with the guilty consciousness of having allowed my sympathies to go astray; for though in theory I totally disapprove of Cecil Harshaw, personally I defy anybody not to like him. I will except prejudiced persons, like his cousin and the lady he is so bent on making, by hook or by crook, a Mrs. Harshaw.

Mr. Harshaw the first (and last to arrive) has shaved off his mustache quite recently, I should say, and the nakedness of his upper lip is not becoming. I wonder if she ever saw him with his mouth bare? I wonder if she would have accepted him if she had? He was so funny about his cousin, the promoter; so absolutely unconscious of his own

asinine position. He argued very sensibly that if, after waiting four years for him she could, n't wait one day longer, she must have changed in her feelings very decidedly, and that was a fact it behooved him to find out. Better now than later. I think he has found out.

All she said, upon his departure, was, "It's a long lane that has no turning.»>

One might infer that the engagement had been a long lane to her, and that she was glad to have come to the turn at last. Possibly he was nicer four years ago. Men get terribly down at heel, mentally, morally, and mannerly, poking off by themselves in these out-of-the-way places. But she has been seeing people, and steadily making growth, since she gave him her promise at eighteen. The promise itself has helped to develop her. It must have been a knot of perpetual doubt and self-questioning. No one need tell me that she really loves him; if she did, if she had, she could not take his treatment of her like this. Perhaps the family circumstances constrained her. They may have thought Harshaw had a fortune in the future of his ranch, with its river boundary of placer-mines. English girls are obedient, and English mamas are practical, we read.

She is practical, and she is beginning to look her situation in the face.

<< I shall want you to help me find some way to return that money,» she said to me later, with an angry blush-«that money which Cecil Harshaw kindly advanced me on my journey. I shall hate every moment of my life till that debt is paid. But for the insult I can never repay him, never!

"We are a large family at home-four girls besides me, and three boys; and boys are so expensive. I cannot ask mama to help me; indeed, I was hoping to help her. I should have gone for a governess if I had not been duped into coming over here. Would there be any one in this town, do you think, who might want a governess for her children? I have a few accomplishments, and though I've not been trained for a teacher, I am used to children, and they like me, when I want them to.» I thought this a good idea for the future; it would take time to work it up. But for the present an inspiration came to me, on the strength of something Tom had said that he wished I could draw or paint, because he could make an artist useful on this trip, he condescended to say, if he could lay his hand on one. All the photographs of the springs, it seems, have the disastrous effect of dwarfing their height and magnitude. There is a lagoon and a weedy island directly beneath them, and

in the camera pictures taken from in front the reeds and willows look gigantic in the foreground, and the springs are insignificant out of all proportion. This would be fatal to our schemers' claims as to the volume of water they are supposed to furnish for an electrical power-plant to supply the Silver City mines, one hundred miles away. Hence the demand of Science for Art, with her point of view.

"Just the thing for her,» I thought. «She can draw and water-color, of course; all English girls do.» And I flew and proposed it to Tom. «Pay her well for her pictures, and she 'll make your Thousand Springs look like Ten Thousand.» (That was only my little joke, dear; I am always afraid of your conscience.) But the main thing is settled; we have found a way of inducing Kitty to go. Tom was charmed with my intelligence, and Kitty, poor child, would go anywhere, in any conceivable company, to get even with Cecil Harshaw on that hateful money transaction. When I told her she would have to submit to his presence on the trip, she shrugged her shoulders.

«It 's one of life's little ironies,>» she said.

« And,» I added, «we shall have to pass the ranch that was to have been->

«Oh, well, that is another. I must get used to the humorous side of my situation. One suffers most, perhaps, through thinking how other people will think one suffers. If they would only give one credit for a little common sense, to say nothing of pride!»

You see, she will wear no willows for him. We shall get on beautifully, I 've no doubt, even with the «<irony» of the situation rubbed in, as it will inevitably be, in the course of this journey.

Tom solemnly assures me that the other Harshaw's name is not Micky, but « Denis »; and he explains his having got into the legislature (quite unnecessarily, so far as I am concerned) on the theory that he is too lazy even to make enemies.

I shall get the governess project started, so it can be working while we are away. If you know of anybody who would be likely to want her, and .could pay her decently, and would know how to treat a nursery governess who is every bit a lady, but who is not above her business (I take for granted she is not, though of course I don't know), do, pray, speak a word for her. I'll answer for it that she is bright enough; better not mention that she is pretty. There must be a hundred chances for her there to one in Idaho. We are hardly up to the resident-governess idea as yet. It is thought to be wanting in public spirit for

parents not to patronize the local schools. If they are not good enough for the rich families, the poor families feel injured, and want to know the reason why.

To return to these Harshaws. Does it not strike you that the English are more original, not to say queer, than we are; more indifferent to the opinions of others- certain others? They don't hesitate to do a thing because on the face of it it's perfectly insane. Witness the lengths they go, these young fellows out here, for anything on earth they happen to set their crazy hearts upon. The young fancy bloods, I mean, who have the love of sport developed through generations of tough old hard-riding, high-playing, deep-drinking ancestors; the younger sons, who have inherited the sense of having the ball at their feet, without having inherited the ball. They are certainly great fun, but I should hate to be responsible for them.

I note what you say about my tendency to slang, and how it seems to grow upon me.» It seems » to, alas! for the simple reason, doubtless, that it does. I can remember when I used carefully to corral all my slang words in apologetic quote-marks, as if they were range-cattle to be fenced out from the home herd-our mother-tongue which we brought with us from the East, and which you have preserved in all its conscientious purity. But I give it up. I hardly know any longer, in regard to my own speech, which are my native expressions and which are the wild and woolly ones I have adopted off the range. It will serve all human purposes of a woman irretrievably married into the West. If the worst come to the worst, I can make a virtue of necessity and become a member of the « American Dialect Society »-a member in good standing.

I

THIS is the morning of our glorious start. am snatching a few words with you while the men are packing the wagon, which stands before the door. What a sensation it would make drawn up in front of-Mrs. Percifer's door, for instance, in Park Avenue! Here no one turns the head to look at it.

I told Tom he need make no concessions to the fact that he is to have two fairly welldressed women along. We will go as they go, without any fuss, or they may leave us at home. I despise those condescending, makebelieve-rough-it trips, with which men flatter women into thinking themselves genuine campaigners. Consequently our outfit is a big, bony ranch-team and a Shuttler wagon with the double-sides in; spring seats, of

course, and the bottom well bedded down with tents and rolls of blankets. We don't go out of our way to be uncomfortable; that is the pet weakness of the tenderfoot. The «kitchen-box » and the « grub-box » sit shoulder to shoulder in the back of the wagon. The stovepipe, tied with rope, in sections, keeps up a lively clatter in concert with the jiggling of the tinware and the thumps and bumps of the camp-stove, which has swallowed its own feet, and, by the internal sounds, does n't seem to have digested them.

I spent last evening covering the canteens with canvas. The maiden was quite cheerful, sorting her drawing-materials and packing her colors and sketch-blocks. She laughs at everything Tom says, whether she sees the point or not, and most when there is none to see. Tom will be cook, because he prefers his own messing to any of ours, and we can't spare room in the wagon for a regular camp chef. Mr. Harshaw is the «swamper, because he makes himself useful doing things my lord does n't like to do. And Kitty is not Miss Co-myn, as we called it, but Miss « Cummin,»> as they call it,«the Comin' woman,» Tom calls her. Mr. Billings, the teamster, completes our party.

SEPT.

Never mind the date. This is tomorrow morning, and we are at Walter's Ferry. It seems a week since we left Bisuka. We started yesterday on the flank of a duststorm, and soon were with the main column, the wind pursuing us, and hurling the sweepings of the road into the backs of our necks. The double-sides raised us out of the worst of the dust, else I think we should have been smothered. It was a test of our young lady's traveling manners. She kept her head down and her mouth shut; but when I shrieked at her to ask how she was standing it, she plucked her dusty veil from between her lips and smiled for answer.

We two sat on the back seat, Tom in front with Billings, and the «swamper» sat anywhere on the lumps and bumps which our baggage made, covered by the canvas wagonsheet. He might have ridden his horseeverybody supposed he would; but that would have separated him from the object of his existence; the object sternly ignoring him, and riding for miles with her face turned away, her hand to her hat, which the wind persistently snatched at. It was her wide-brimmed sketching-hat-rather a daring creation, but monstrously becoming, and I had persuaded her to wear it, the morning being delusively clear, thinking we were to have one of our