The spectator., 1922-04-21

gentle, ,euuer and refined, like, TOT iis stance, Patricia McLaurin. Soon the ray of hope died within her, and she bent her head and sobbed again.
 One of her bare hands began to grope idly in the snow at her side, and she did not feel the cold. Suddenly she realized that her hand was full of shavings, whittlings. Some man had been sitting there whiting with pocket knife--it must have been @ man, for who ever heard of woman whiting? She felt in the SHOW with both hands, and found mere whittlings there were bushels of whittlings, it seemed to her, lying there under ths snow.
 Then she wondered-wOndered who it could have been.
 It was quite dark now, but the moon was not yet up. A great. bright star blazed above David Morelands tomb like beacon fire. She heard the mHf- fed sounds of slow masculine foot steps in the snow behind her. She
  she knew it could be but one man.
 Bill Dales head was down. and he moved as though he neither knew nor cared whither he went. Then he saw the dark heap on the rivers bank be- fore him, and he halted. He knew in an.
 Dale went on and sat down on stone the size of small barrel that lay at the rivers rim.
 "Babe?" he said. It was the mating call of his heart in the springtime of his life
 "Who d-done all O this whittlin. Bill?" asked Elizabeth.
 'I did," softly.
 But I thought you were so busy here! It's nobody but idlers, of course. that whittles-that is, most O the time it's nobody but idlers that whittles'
 But I'm not busy on Sundays. V know,' replied Dale.
 Tell me this," Elizabeth asked pointedly: What made you come to this one spot to do your whittin? Couldn't you whittle up there in my daddy's cabin yard?"
 lie answered her unhesitatingly: Because l like to be here. This place is a shrine to me. Ii was here that first loved you. Babe. Now you tell me this: Why did you come to this particular spot 10 sit down in the snow? There's snow in your dad dy's cabin yard!"
 Said Elizabeth. in voice that sound ed sInothered: Because l like to be hcre-this place is shrine to me, too-it was here that first loved you, Bill Dale!"
 'rhen why" he demanded, wont you marry me?'
 Because it was me that shot-Ad- am Ball."
 She went on, and though emotion had set every fibre of her to quivering, she did not fall into the old hill talk, which was proof of the magniiicence of her:
 "l thought you wouldn't want me if you knew that l did thai, and couldn't marry you without telling you. But you know now! And do what ever you feel like doing or saying, you can't hurt me: l can never be hurt any-any m-m-m-more-"
 Bill Dale shot erect. Truly, this was day of surprises for him. He stopped and caught her up
 "A real woman." he said happily. strengthening with her in his arms. "A real, all gold, pure gold woman. You loved me well enough to kill man to save me, and wouldn't let me know it. Woman is mystery. sure enough. But perhaps it's because women are so fine and so far above menfok that menfolk cannot understand them. Well, Babe, kitten. must l drag you 70 the altar. or will you go with me ! of your own accord?'
 She put her arms around his neck and drew them tight.
 I'd go with you, Bill Dale-or David Moreland. whichever it is-to the very 1 last inch of the end of the world" she said
 .
 Early the next morning, there came strolling laZily up the rivers bank a ! tall and lanky mountaineer who wore, among other things, a Niagara Falls mus,ache and cowhide boots that seemed ridiculously short because of the great length of his slender legs. l He carried n rifle in the hollow of one arm; he was looking for rabbit-tracks l iE the snow. Near the pool above the | blown-down sycamore. he came upon tracks that had not been made ny any | four-foored animals. There were the l footprints of a man coming from one l direction, and the footprints of a wom- an coming from another direction; only the footprints of the man went away toward Ben l.ittleford's cabin.
 By Heck was puzzled. Here comes 1 Bin.' he drowned. and over here 1 comes Babe And thar ns nlain ms