wiles and had found occasion to show Chip how little she thought of him;
a highly unsatisfactory achievement, since Chip calmly over-looked her
whenever common politeness permitted him.

There yet remained the unexplored mystery of that little cabin down
the slope, from which sounded so much boylike laughter of an evening.
She watched and waited till she was positive the coast was clear,
then clapped an old hat of J. G.'s upon her head and ran lightly
down the hill.

With her hand upon the knob, she ran her eye critically along the outer
wall and decided that it had, at some remote date, been treated to a
coat of whitewash; gave the knob a sudden twist, with a backward glance
like a child stealing cookies, stepped in and came near falling headlong.
She had not expected that remoteness of floor common to cabins built on
a side hill.

"Well!" She pulled herself together and looked curiously about her.
What struck her at first was the total absence of bunks. There were
a couple of plain, iron bedsteads and two wooden ones made of rough
planks. There was a funny-looking table made of an inverted coffee
box with legs of two-by-four, and littered with a charactertistic
collection of bachelor trinkets. There was a glass lamp with a badly
smoked chimney, a pack of cards, a sack of smoking tobacco and a box
of matches. There was a tin box with spools of very coarse thread,
some equally coarse needles and a pair of scissors. There was also--
and Miss Whitmore gasped when she saw it--a pile of much-read magazines
with the latest number of her favorite upon the top. She went closer
and examined them, and glanced around the room with doubting eyes.
There were spurs, quirts, chaps and queer-looking bits upon the walls;