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 "Anglo-Saxon and Chemistry and Hindoo His- tory and Sunsets and Mountains and Moose" she repeated glibly.

"Now you re teasing me," said the Journalist.

She nodded her head delightedly. "I m trying to !" she smiled.

The Journalist turned part way round in his chair, and proffered her a perfectly huge olive as though it had been a crown jewel. When he spoke again, his voice was almost as low as the voice of the man who was talking transmigration of souls. But his smile was a great deal kinder. "Don't you find any Romance at all in your woods?" he asked a bit drawlingly.

"said the Girl; "that s the trouble. Of course, when I was small it did n t make any dif- ference; indeed, I think that I rather preferred it lonesome then. But this last year, somehow, and this last autumn especially oh, I know you 11 think I'm silly but two or three times in the woods I've hoped and hoped and hoped at the turn of a trail, or the edge of a brook, or the scent of a camp fire that I might run right into a real, live Hunter or Fisherman. And one night I really prayed about it and the next morn- ing I got up early and put on my very best little hunting suit all coats and leggings and things just like yours, you know and I stayed out all