companion drew in her horse.

"If you do not mind, we will go back,"
she said.

Her tone was dejected. I thought she
was tired.

"Oh, no!" she protested, when I apolo-
gized for my thoughtlessness in bringing her
so far. "I'm not tired. I can ride all day.
Where I come from, we have to ride if
we want to go anywhere; but here there
seems to be no particular place to -- to
reach."

"Are you so utilitarian?" I asked, laugh-
ingly. "Must you always have some reason
for everything you do? I do so many things
just for the mere pleasure of doing them,
I'm afraid you will have a very poor opinion
of me."

"That is not what I mean," she said,
flushing, and turning her large gray eyes on
me. "You must not think I have a reason
for everything I do." She was very earnest,
and it was evident that she was unacquainted
with the art of making conversation. "But
what I mean," she went on, "is that there is