like a tapering fishing-rod, exquisitely made, but with resistance concealed in her slenderness. She was like a maidenhair fern, frail, but with what a tough little stem! She was like a flag of fine silk, soft, you could crush it in your hand, but in the battle line, in the face of the wind, how stiffly it could wave!
Yes, Bord Mathewson had got to the point of thinking about Edna Miller in similes by the second day, when the searchers from the hotel discovered the missing pair, spotting them miles away by the ribbon of smoke from their open fire.
But it wasn't until Edna was established at the hotel that she learned Bord Mathewson's opinion of her. And then it was brought to her John Alden-wise, by the facetious man of the party.
"You ought to hear the bouquets Bord's throwing at you down-stairs," he said. "You've got the women all green with envy."
Edna was in a private sitting-room on the second floor, half reclining in a morris chair by an open fire, with a steamer rug thrown over her knees. It was some hours since her arrival. The doctor, speedily summoned and awaiting her, had long since left, and had given permission to the Bartlett party to see Miss Miller and offer their sympathy. They had all done so, men as well as girls. Of course everybody was excited.
