Spicer South. Windows had been cut, and lamps
adopted. It was no longer so crudely a pioneer abode.
While they waited for dinner, a girl lightly crossed the
stile, and came up to the house. Adrienne met her at
the door, while Samson and Horton stood back, waiting.
Suddenly, Miss Lescott halted and regarded the new-
comer in surprise. It was the same girl she had seen,
yet a different girl. Her hair no longer fell in tangled
masses. Her feet were no longer bare. Her dress,
though simple, was charming, and, when she spoke, her
English had dropped its half-illiterate peculiarities,
though the voice still held its bird-like melody.
  "Oh, Samson," cried Adrienne, "you two have been
deceiving me! Sally, you were making up, dressing the
part back there, and letting me patronize you."
  Sally's laughter broke from her throat in a musical
peal, but it still held the note of shyness, and it was
Samson who spoke.
  "I made the others ride on, and I got Sally to meet
you just as she was when I left her to go East." He
spoke with a touch of the mountaineer's over-sensitive
pride. "I wanted you first to see my people, not as they
are going to be, but as they were. I wanted you to
know how proud I am of them-just that way."
  That evening, the four of them walked together over
to the cabin of the Widow Miller. At the stile, Adrienne
Lescott turned to the girl, and said:
  "I suppose this place is preempted. I'm going to
take Wilfred down there by the creek, and leave you
two alone."
  Sally protested with mountain hospitality, but even
under the moon she once more colored adorably.