At last she said: "I was going to say, Harold, that you can't earn a home trailin' around over these mountains year after year with a band of Indians." He became thoughtful.

"I reckon you're right about that.

I'm wasting time; I've got to picket old Kintuck somewhere and go to work if I----" He stopped abruptly and she smiled mournfully.

"You needn't hesitate; tell me all about it." He sat in silence--a silence that at last became a rebuke.

She arose.
"Well, suppose we go out to supper; we can talk all the better there." He felt out of place and self-conscious, but he gave little outward sign of it as he took his seat at the table opposite her.