followed her gaze. The dark was settling into the valley. There were
splotches of foliage and waves of meadow, with a few winding strips of
silver where the river broke away from the trees. "And to think that we
have only a few more such days."

"Yes,"--he spoke softly,--"we don't see things like that in Chicago."

"Why don't you come to Truesdale?"

"So long as Mr. Weeks stays in Chicago, I am likely to be there too."

"You are fond of Mr. Weeks?"

"Yes, I am."

"I never met him--I've heard a great deal about him." She sat upon the
railing and leaned back against a pillar, her eyes turned to the foliage.
"Father says he is a good business man."

"He is."

"Mr. West," she threw her head back with a peremptory toss--"I want you to
tell me something."

"Wait," he replied, "come to the river. Then I'll tell you anything."

She smiled, but acquiesced, and they went down the path. Harvey drew up a
cedar boat and extended his hand, but she stepped lightly aboard without
his aid. Harvey pushed away from the bank and began slowly to paddle
against the current.