and she was certain that she lacked none of the essential requisites of the typical fair bride. But when the man—the slow-coming but indispensable auxiliary without whom no wistful woman can be made a bride—would put in an appearance, she had no idea. Recently, she had decided that she would seek him, if he did not soon seek her; and the morning of Mary's mishap on the mountain was the very time appointed and selected by Millicent for her first excursion for the missing unknown.
Quite early that morning she set out for a stroll among the numerous deserted claims, east of the town. She was partially inspired to resort to this expedient by something which Walter had said to her several weeks before, but whose meaning, strangely enough, had only just penetrated her mind. The substance of what he had remarked was that there were at least fifty families at Red Mountain which were equal to any family in the East. This being so, it did not seem improbable to her that there was in some one of these families at least one eligible and marriageable man.
And so she set out, hoping that chance would lead her to the combined objects of her quest,—an adventure and a man. And her faith was rewarded: she found both.
When she had been walking for about an hour, and had come to the unhappy conclusion that she was expecting more of Red Mountain than Red Mountain could give her, she suddenly came upon what seemed to her one of the supremest marvels of that supremely marvellous country. It was a perfectly level patch of dull, dark red, which she mistook for solid rock. It was about twenty feet long by ten feet wide, and the surrounding soil sloped gradually down to it, just as the sides of a pan slope down toward the bottom.
"This," she reflected, "is the beautiful paint-stone with which the red warriors of the forest delight in painting themselves. I have heard that it is as slippery as oil; and if I were only younger I would take a run and slide across it."
Sliding had been one of the favorite amusements of Millicent's childhood, before she got into the tenacious clutches of Aunt Jenkins; and it had been the very juvenile habit which she had relinquished with most regret, upon Aunt Jenkins's declaration that it was not graceful. It was many a year since she had indulged in it; and now that a seeming opportunity had presented itself, she could not resist it.
Looking around, first, and making sure that she was entirely alone, she started back a step or two, held up her skirts, took a smart little run, and a considerable leap,—when she reached the edge of her supposed "paint-stone" find,—and landed, up to her waist, in a mass of soft red clay, which frequent rains had settled in the little funnel-shaped hollow, and which the drainage of a neighboring mine kept constantly of the consistency of newly-made jelly.
Perhaps she was too thoroughly startled to scream, perhaps it was owing to the training of Aunt Jenkins; anyhow, no sound escaped her lips. She might not have fully appreciated her leaping capacity, and very Likely she did not; but the little jump which she had given, when her feet left the solid ground, sent her squarely into the middle of the
