But how he continued to be a prospector remained a puzzle. The life is hard, f

Adows are low. How do you hope to push through the woods after dark?
There are wild animals--wolves!" he
added, maliciously. Barbara looked up again with sudden alarm. "But
what shall we do?" she cried, less composedly. "You _must_ take me
home!" "I can try," said he, with the resignation of the man who can
but die. The tone had its effect. "What do you advise?" she asked.
"That we camp here,"
he proposed, calmly, with an air of finality. "_Oh!_" dissented
Barbara in alarm. "Never! I am afraid of the woods! It will be wet and
cold! I am hungry! My feet are just sopping!" "I will watch all night
with
my rifle," he told her. "I will fix you a tent, and
will cook you a supper, and your feet shall not

be wet and cold one
moment longer than you will." "Isn't your home nearer?" she asked. "My
home is where night finds me," he replied. Barbara
meditated. It was going to be dreadful. She knew
she would catch her death of cold. But what could she do about it?
"You may fix the wet-feet part," she assented at last. "All right,"
agreed the young man with alacrity.
He unslung the pack from his back, and removed from the straps a
little axe. "Now, I am not going
to be gone but a moment," he assured her, "and while I am away, you
must
take off your shoes and stockings and put these on." He had been
fumbling in his pack, and now produced a pair of thick woollen
lumberman's socks. Barbara held one at arm's length in each hand, and
looked at them. Then she looked up at the young man. Then they both
laughed. While her new protector was away,
Barbara not only made the suggested
changes, but she did marvels with the chiffon. Really, it did not look
so bad,

considering. When the young man returned with an armful of h