delicate form of flattery to himself. But his yearning, innocent spirit
detected a something lacking, which he was too proud to admit even to
himself. It was his own fault; he ought to have waited for her, and not
gone for the trout!
So a fortnight passed with an interchange of the vicarious letters, and
brief, hopeful, and disappointing meetings to Leonidas. To add to his
unhappiness, he was obliged to listen to sneering disparagement of his
goddess from his family, and criticisms which, happily, his innocence
did not comprehend. It was his own mother who accused her of shamefully
"making up" to the good-looking expressman at church last Sunday, and
declared that Burroughs ought to "look after that wife of his,"--two
statements which the simple Leonidas could not reconcile. He had seen
the incident, and only thought her more lovely than ever. Why should not
the expressman think so too? And yet the boy was not happy; something
intruded upon his sports, upon his books, making them dull and vapid,
and yet that something was she! He grew pale and preoccupied. If he had
only some one in whom to confide--some one who could explain his hopes
and fears. That one was nearer than he thought!
It was quite three weeks since the rattlesnake incident, and he was
wandering moodily over Casket Ridge. He was near the Casket, that abrupt
upheaval of quartz and gneiss, shaped like a coffer, from which the
mountain took its name. It was a favorite haunt of Leonidas, one of
whose boyish superstitions was that it contained a treasure of gold, and
one of whose brightest dreams had been that he should yet discover it.
This he did not do to-day, but looking up from the rocks that he was
listlessly examining, he made the almost as thrilling discovery that
near him on the trail was a distinguished-looking stranger.
He was bestriding a shapely mustang, which well became his handsome
face and slight, elegant figure, and he was looking at Leonidas with
an amused curiosity and a certain easy assurance that were difficult to
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