protest; and when I fairly catch the look in the great eye of a dying elk
or black-tail, it knocks me out for that day's hunt."

"Paul is perfectly happy!" Christine broke in. "He has got one of his
beloved People to grovel to. They can sleep in the same tent and eat from
the same plate, if you like. Why, it's better than the East Side! He'll be
blood brother to Packer John before they leave the woods."

Moya blushed with anger.

"You have said enough on that subject, Christine." Mrs. Bogardus bent her
dark, keen gaze upon her daughter's face. "Come"--she rose. "Come with
me!"

Christine sat still. "Come!" her mother repeated sternly. "Moya,"--in a
different voice,--"your letter was lovely. Shall you read it to your
father?"

"Hardly," said Moya, flushing. "Father does not care for descriptions, and
the woods are an old story to him."

Mrs. Bogardus placed her hands on the girl's shoulders and gave her one of
her infrequent, ceremonious kisses, which, like her finest smile, she kept
for occasions too nice for words.




IX