"Do not get flighty, Ruth." Janie came close, however, and peered up the
path. "You and Andy will drive me daft. The path is a straight, clean
one; had Andy been on it, he would still be in sight. I'm thinking he
turned before he came to the brook bed. You did not notice, but your
thoughts kept agoing on."

"Perhaps," nodded Ruth, but Janie knew she was unconvinced.

On her way home soon after, Ruth began to ponder. Once clear of Janie's
observant eye, the girl turned back through the shrubbery, and ran to
the spot where she had last seen Andy. All was as silent as a breathless
summer day could make it. There was no side-path; no broken bushes.

"He _was_ here," breathed the girl, "and he disappeared like a flash!"

Then she knelt down and tried to trace footprints in the mossy earth.
"Ah!" she smiled, for there was a crushed space at the edge of a brambly
cluster of bushes. She quietly drew aside the branches, and a look of
wonder grew in the bright eyes. So cunningly concealed, that even her
native-bred keenness might never have espied it, lay a path, and among
the bushes, Andy's crutch! Should she follow? In the old days Ruth would
not have paused. But these were not play-days; Andy might be upon grave
business. Reverently she drew back, and replaced the disorder she had
caused among the parted leaves. Suddenly a step startled her. She turned
sharply. Up the path came a British soldier, whistling a gay tune and
eyeing her boldly.

More than once had Ruth encountered these most ungallant gentlemen, and
she was alert at resenting any familiarity, but a fear grew in her heart