Their laughter made them better friends than before. The
responsive gladness in each other's eyes seemed part of the
midsummer stillness of the afternoon. Above, a red squirrel
dropped the husks of larch tassels upon them, and peered down upon
them with his bright eyes. He was thinking himself of household
duties, and had his own sweetheart safe at home, nestling in the
bowl of a great beech deep in the bowering wood by the loch.

"I liked to hear you speak of your father to-day," said Winsome,
still swinging her feet girlishly. "It must be a great delight to
have a father to go to. I never remember father or mother."

Her eyes were looking straight before her now, and a depth of
tender wistfulness in them went to Ralph's heart. He was beginning
to hate the branch.

"My father," he said, "is often stern to others, but he has never
been stern to me--always helpful, full of tenderness and kindness.
Perhaps that is because I lost my mother almost before I can
remember."

Winsome's wet eyes, with the lashes curving long over the under
side of the dark-blue iris, were turned full on him now with the
tenderness of a kindred pity.

"Do you know I think that your father was once kind to my mother.
Grandmother began once to tell me, and then all at once would tell
me no more--I think because grandfather was there."

"I did not know that my father ever knew your mother," answered