Minty noticed the change. "But ye're not goin' to tarry over there, ner
gossip--you hear? Yer to take this yer message. Yer to say 'that it will
be onpossible for me to come back there, on account--on account of--'"

"Important business," suggested Richelieu; "that's the perlite style."

"Ef you like." She leaned over the bed and put her lips to his forehead,
still damp with the dews of sleep, and then to his long-lashed lids.
"Mind Nip!"--the squirrel--he practically suggested. For an instant
their blond curls mingled on the pillow. "Now go to sleep," she said
curtly.

But Richelieu had taken her white neck in the short strangulatory hug of
the small boy, and held her fast. "Ye'll let me put on my best pants?"

"Yes."

"And wear that ring?"

"Yes"--a little sadly.

"Then yer kin count me in, Minty; and see here"--his voice sank to a
confidential whisper--"mebbee some day ye'll be beholden to ME for a lot
o' real jewelry."

She returned slowly to her room, and, opening the window, looked out
upon the night. The same moon that had lent such supererogatory grace to
the natural beauty of The Lookout, here seemed to have failed; as Minty
had, in disguising the relentless limitations of Nature or the cruel
bonds of custom. The black plain of granite, under its rays, appeared