“Ina, you stuck up for me that way, before your father?” queried Ben, huskily.

“I did. And that was the cause of our first quarrel. We’ve had others since. I believe, though, that after he gets over his anger he has a sneaking admiration for me. I hear him championing me to Kate. My older sister doesn’t like my looks, my ideas, my clothes. We don’t get along at all. But mother and I, when we’re alone, do better all the time. I’m helping mother, Ben, and I shall stick for her sake and the youngsters’.”

“I never thought you’d have trouble at home. Aw, what a shame! These old farm hands grown rich! … But Hart Blaine will marry you to some partner of his, like Setter, or—or that nincompoop McAdam I hear so much about.”

Ben’s feelings, flowing and augmenting with the outburst of his words, ended in misery. It confounded him with a possible revelation of the true state of his heart, of an appalling trouble that he dared not face.

“You flatter me, Ben,” returned Ina, with something keen edging into the softness of her tone. “You’ve forgotten me—and many things.”

“No—no…. Forgive me, Ina. It’s you who forget. I’ve lived a lonely hard life since we—since you left. Straight, I swear to God, but nothing to help me toward your level…. Only don’t you dare say I’ve forgotten you.”

“I understand you, Ben,” she said, in sweet earnestness. “You’ve suffered. You think you’re bitter, hopeless, no good. Oh, Ben, what a blunder! You’re hurt because of the infamy which has been heaped upon you. Because you imagine you’re an outcast from your father’s house. Because you must meet me, your old playmate, in secret. You’re proud. I would not have you any different, except to see things clearly.”

“I don’t understand you. I can’t follow you, Ina. I’m only a poor stumbling fool. Even your kindness amazes me. We were schoolmates—playmates, childish sweethearts—and I’ve never had another in any sense, but that’s all past. It’s over, done, buried. I’m a poor wild–horse hunter, to say the least…. You’ve come home a lovely girl, educated. You’re the pride of a rich old farmer who wants to hobnob with city folks…. That’s how I see it. And I’d far rather——”

She rose abruptly and standing over him, her face finding a ray of moonlight that penetrated the leafy foliage, she placed a hand on each of his shoulders. Ben’s instinct was to sink under that touch, but some magic in it or her look caught his spirit, and he seemed to be uplifted.

Before she could speak Hettie came running to them, panting and excited.

“Ben—father is driving—down the lane,” she said. “I must be with mother—when he comes. Good–by. Send Nevada for letters. Good night, Ina. You and Marvie better slip through the field.”

Ben had risen while Hettie was speaking, and as she hurried away he noticed a boy standing near.

“Hello, Marvie! Take care my father doesn’t see Ina here,” he whispered. “Come out to Forlorn River and fish with me.”