in lieu of more logical argument. Nevertheless, she was still conscious
of an inward irritation--always distinct from her singular and perfectly
material passion--which found vent as the difficulties of their
undeviating progress through the underbrush increased. At last she lost
her shoe again, and stopped short. "It's a pity your Indian friends
did not christen you 'Wild Mustard' or 'Clover,'" she said satirically,
"that you might have had some sympathies and longings for the open
fields instead of these horrid jungles! I know we will not get back in
time."

Unfortunately, Low accepted this speech literally and with his
remorseless gravity. "If my name annoys you, I can get it changed by the
legislature, you know, and I can find out what my father's name was, and
take that. My mother, who died in giving me birth, was the daughter of a
chief."

"Then your mother was really an Indian?" said Nellie, "and you are--"
She stopped short.

"But I told you all this the day we first met," said Low, with grave
astonishment. "Don't you remember our long talk coming from church?"

"No," said Nellie coldly, "you didn't tell me." But she was obliged to
drop her eyes before the unwavering, undeniable truthfulness of his.

"You have forgotten," he said calmly; "but it is only right you should
have your own way in disposing of a name that I have cared little for;
and as you're to have a share of it--"

"Yes, but it's getting late, and if we are not going forward--"