"Nothing," he laughed.

"You're as pale as a ghost."

"Am I? Well, I haven't seen any ghosts--Say, mother wants you to come to
supper. She has something you specially like. Can you?"

"Sure, she can," answered her mother, for she was glad to have Carlia
out away from the work which she was determined to stick to closer than
ever. Carlia was pleased to go, and kept up a merry chatter until she
saw that Dorian was exceptionally sober-minded. She asked him what was
the matter with him, but he evaded. His thoughts were on the man whom
he had prevented from calling at her home that evening. What was his
errand? What was in the scoundrel's mind? Dorian struggled to put away
from him the dark thoughts which had arisen because of his recent
encounter with Mr. Lamont. All the evening at home and during their walk
back he was unusually silent, and Carlia could only look at him with
questioning anxiety.

Spring, once started, came on with a rush. The melting snow filled the
river with a muddy flood; the grass greened the slopes; the bursting
willows perfumed the air; the swamp awakened to the warm touch of the
sun. Dorian's busy season also began.

As soon as the roads were passible, Dorian drove up to his dry-farm. On
one of these first trips he fell in with a company of his neighboring
dry-farmers, and they traveled together. While they were stopping for
noon at a small hotel in the canyon, a rain storm came up, which delayed
them. They were not impatient, however, as the moisture was welcome; so
the farmers rested easily, letting their horses eat a little longer than