"Well, not much for ME, I reckon," he returned, with a deeper
respiration, that was his nearest approach to a sigh, "but suthin'
perhaps for yourself and--another. Are you married?"

"No," said the editor, promptly.

"Nor engaged to any--young lady?"--with great politeness.

"No."

"Well, mebbe you think it a queer thing for me to say,--mebbe you reckon
you KNOW it ez well ez anybody,--but it's my opinion that White Violet
is in love with you."

"With me?" ejaculated the editor, in a hopeless astonishment that at
last gave way to an incredulous and irresistible laugh.

A slight touch of pain passed over Mr. Bowers's dejected face, but left
the deep outlines set with a rude dignity. "It's SO," he said, slowly,
"though, as a young man and a gay feller, ye may think it's funny."

"No, not funny, but a terrible blunder, Mr. Bowers, for I give you my
word I know nothing of the lady and have never set eyes upon her."

"No, but she has on YOU. I can't say," continued Mr. Bowers, with
sublime naivete, "that I'd ever recognize you from her description, but
a woman o' that kind don't see with her eyes like you and me, but with
all her senses to onct, and a heap more that ain't senses as we know
'em. The same eyes that seed down through the brush and ferns in the
Summit woods, the same ears that heerd the music of the wind trailin'