"I suppose I didn't get a very good character from my last place?" she
said, with a laugh.

"I don't understand you," he replied, in evident sincerity.

She bit her lip and was silent. But as they were returning home, she
said gently, "I hope you were not angry with me for the lie I told
when I spoke of 'your plan.' I could not give the real reason for
not returning with--with--that man. But it's not all a lie. I have a
plan--if you haven't. When you are ready to go to Sacramento to take
your place, dress me as an Indian boy, paint my face, and let me go with
you. You can leave me--there--you know."

"It's not a bad idea," he responded gravely. "We will see."

On the next day, and the next, the rencontre seemed to be forgotten.
The herbarium was already filled with rare specimens. Teresa had even
overcome her feminine repugnance to "bugs" and creeping things so far
as to assist in his entomological collection. He had drawn from a sacred
cache in the hollow of a tree the few worn text-books from which he had
studied.

"They seem very precious," she said, with a smile.

"Very," he replied gravely. "There was one with plates that the ants ate
up, and it will be six months before I can afford to buy another."

Teresa glanced hurriedly over his well-worn buckskin suit, at his calico
shirt with its pattern almost obliterated by countless washings, and
became thoughtful.