Southern ways. This one was so sensible and
companionable, and so appreciative and sympathetic.
He felt he could say anything to her and she would
know what he meant. Perhaps, too, by and by she
would understand just why he had upset a man who
had been rude to her.

Margaret lay awake, too--not long--not more
than five minutes, perhaps. Long enough, however,
to wish she was not so sunburnt, and that she had
brought her other dress and a pair of gloves and a
hat instead of this rough mountain-suit. Long
enough, too, to recall Oliver's standing beside her on
the bridge with his big hat sweeping the ground, the
color mounting to his cheeks, and that joyous look
in his eyes.

"Was he really glad to see me," she said to herself,
as she dropped off into dreamland, "or is it his way
with all the women he meets? I wonder, too, if he
protects them all?"


And so ended a day that always rang out in Oliver's
memory with a note of its own.

These dreams under the shingles! What would
life be without them?