you said I wasn’t to let you touch me. Well, but you deserve punishing———”
“Let me earn my forgiveness then, dear.”
The mischief left her face.
“There is something I wanted—you know Roddy Duncan from the Lion? He’s such a nice little boy, and I’ve often seen him up there. But—but—he is always with Art; and dear old Art, he—I can’t speak to Mr. Ormond myself—but—you know———”
They were the same fine-cut features and long-lashed eyes that Randal had followed into deeps that shook his soul at the remembering.
“I know, dear. I’ll go down and see Ormond to-night. He can put a check-strap on Roddy, if you wish it. I’ll do what I can to-night. We go out to camp at day-break, you see.”
He had a twenty-mile ride behind him, and four nights that he did not speak of behind that. But he took saddle again that evening under a wet sky, with Danny’s blessing chasing him out.
“We’re evolutin’ teetotalers up at the camp, you’ll remember; an’ you’re not ter bring back more’n a bottle o’ lavender water fur Ike———”
Randal ducked from Ike’s quick-flung pannikin, and went out on a crest of laughter. It was Danny who last week had discovered Ike behind the brick oven, blue in the face, and spitting “Jockey Club” emphatically.
“Wot’s the little game?” demanded Danny.
