ON THE WAY HOME.


Not until the party was breaking up, and he saw Sammy in the
doorway, did Young Matt go back to the house.

When they had ridden again out of the circle of light, and the
laughter and shouting of the guests was no longer heard, Sammy
tried in vain to arouse her silent escort, chatting gaily about
the pleasures of the evening. But all the young man's reserve had
returned. When she did force him to speak, his responses were so
short and cold that at last the girl, too, was silent. Then, man-
like, he wished she would continue talking.

By the time they reached Compton Ridge the moon was well up. For
the last two miles Sammy had been watching the wavering shafts of
light that slipped through tremulous leaves and swaying branches.
As they rode, a thousand fantastic shapes appeared and vanished
along the way, and now and then as the sound of their horses' feet
echoed through the silent forest, some wild thing in the
underbrush leaped away into the gloomy depth.

Coming out on top of the narrow ridge, the brown pony crowded
closer to the big, white faced sorrel, and the girl, stirred by
the weird loveliness of the scene, broke the silence with an
exclamation, "O Matt! Ain't it fine? Look there!" She pointed to
the view
ahead. "Makes me feel like I could keep on a goin', and goin', and
never stop."