(It seemed to be a relief to Mliss to express her contempt in additional
syllables to that classical young woman's already long-drawn title.) "O
you wicked thing!"

"I am hungry, Lissy. I have eaten nothing since dinner yesterday. I am
famished!" and the young man in a state of remarkable exhaustion leaned
against the tree.

Melissa's heart was touched. In the bitter days of her gypsy life
she had known the sensation he so artfully simulated. Overcome by his
heartbroken tone, but not entirely divested of suspicion, she said:

"Dig under the tree near the roots, and you'll find lots; but mind you
don't tell," for Mliss had HER hoards as well as the rats and squirrels.

But the master, of course, was unable to find them; the effects of
hunger probably blinding his senses. Mliss grew uneasy. At length she
peered at him through the leaves in an elfish way, and questioned:

"If I come down and give you some, you'll promise you won't touch me?"

The master promised.

"Hope you'll die if you do!"

The master accepted instant dissolution as a forfeit. Mliss slid down
the tree. For a few moments nothing transpired but the munching of the
pine nuts. "Do you feel better?" she asked, with some solicitude. The
master confessed to a recuperated feeling, and then, gravely thanking
her, proceeded to retrace his steps. As he expected, he had not gone far