fall."

She looked down into his eyes, as she returned: "I know you must. YOU
would, of course. But, after all, it has to be, and I don't suppose the
tree minds so much, do you?"

"No; I don't suppose it feels it much." He laughed, and, throwing aside
his hat, he ran his fingers through his tumbled hair for all the world
like a schoolboy confused by being caught in some sentimental situation
which he finds not only embarrassing, but puzzling as well.

"I like you for feeling that way about it, though," Betty Jo confessed
with characteristic frankness. "And I am sure it must be a very good
thing for the world that every one is not so intensely practical that
they can chop down trees without a pang. And that reminds me: Speaking
of the practical, now that the book is finished, what are we going to do
with it?"

"Send it to some publisher, I suppose," answered Brian, soberly; "and
then, when they have returned it, send it to some other publisher."

"Have you any particular publisher to whom you will send it first?" she
asked.

"They are all alike, so far as my experience goes," he returned.

"I suppose it would be best if you could take your book East, and
interview the publishers personally, don't you think?"

Brian shook his head: "I am not sure that it would make any difference,