patch that morning; but now that he was closer, she
saw the color in his cheeks and noticed, with a suppressed
smile, the slight mustache curling at the ends,
a new feature since the school had closed. She followed
too the curves of the broad chest and the
muscles outlined through his shirt. She had never
thought him so strong and graceful, nor so handsome.
(The smile came to the surface now--an approving,
admiring smile.) It was the mountain-climbing, no
doubt, she said to herself, and the open-air life that
had wrought the change.

With a laugh and toss of her head she unpacked
her own basket and laid her contribution to the feast
on the flat rock--the pie on a green dock-leaf, which
she reached over and pulled from the water's edge,
and the cake on the pink napkin--the only sign of
city luxury in her outlay. Oliver's eye meanwhile
wandered over her figure and costume--a costume
he had never seen before on any living woman, certainly
not any woman around Kennedy Square.
The cloth skirt came to her ankles, which were covered
with yarn stockings, and her feet were encased
in shoes that gave him the shivers, the soles being
as thick as his own and the leather as tough. (Sue
Clayton would have died with laughter had she seen
those shoes.) Her blouse was of gray flannel, belted
to the waist by a cotton saddle-girth--white and red
--and as broad as her hand. The tam-o'-shanter was
coarse and rough, evidently home-made, and not at