"There was another," explained Douglas as he again described the osier
basket.

Mr. Winton nodded. He looked at his daughter.

"I like to think, young woman, that you were born with and I have
cultivated what might be called artistic taste in you," he said. "Granted
the freedom of the tamarack swamp, could you have done better?"

"Not so well, Daddy! Not nearly so well. I never could have defaced what
you can see was a noble big tree by cutting that piece of bark, while I
might have worshipped until dragged away, but so far as art and I are
concerned, the slippers would still be under their tamarack."

"You are begging the question, Leslie," laughed her father. "I was not
discussing the preservation of the wild, I was inquiring into the state of
your artistic ability. If you had no hesitation about taking the flowers,
could you have gone to that swamp, collected the material and fashioned
and filled a more beautiful basket that this?"

"How can I tell, Daddy?" asked the girl. "There's only one way to learn.
I'll forget my scruples, you get me a pair of rubber boots, then we'll
drive to the tamarack swamp and experiment."

"We'll do it!" cried Mr. Winton. "The very first half day I can spare,
we'll do it. And you Douglas, you will want to come with us, of course."

"Why, 'of course,'" laughed Leslie.

"Because he started the expedition with his golden slippers. When it come