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Rills of perspiration tickled my back like flies. "Can't one man do the work?"

"Right!" She laughed. "I wish a woman could choose that way. Oh! if you'll do that I'll go with you and stand guard over you!"

No, he would not; only wagons went that way, to cross the creek by a small bridge. I could cut off nearly two miles by taking the bridle-path that turned sharply down into the thick woods of the creek-bottom about a quarter of a mile from the house and crossed the stream at a sandy ford. "Ride round," he said, "and I'll show you from the front of the house."

"Whose hand was it; that fellow's, yonder?" Oliver was several paces away.

"They were neither of them present, Lieutenant; that hand was Miss Coralie Rothvelt's."

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