"What is it, Sammie?" and again Lois laid down her work. She had an idea what he wanted to say, though it did not affect her in the least.

"I--I want to s-say," the young man stammered, "that you are the o-only----"

Sammie was suddenly arrested in his protestation of love by d.i.c.k's voice at the door.

"Say, come inside," he called. "It's beginning to rain, and it's spoiled my ride this evening. It's going to be confounded dull to-night, so give us some music, Lois, to liven things up a bit."

With an amused smile, his sister willingly obeyed. Sammie followed her into the house, mentally cursing d.i.c.k for his untimely interruption.

CHAPTER IV

A LITTLE CABIN

Betty and old David had a great afternoon out upon the water in the small row-boat. They were delighted with Lois, and after she had left them they watched her until she disappeared within the house.

"Isn't she wonderful!" Betty exclaimed, as she at length picked up the oars which had been lying unused in the bottom of the boat.

"Who is she, anyway?" her companion asked, for it was evident that he was as much lost in admiration as was the girl.

"Oh, she's Miss Sinclair, Lois, they call her, and her father is very rich. He is president, or something like that, of the street railway and the electric light company in the city. Ma knows all about him, and she has told me a whole lot. He was very poor once, so she says.

He's awful mean and stuck up and won't have anything to do with the people he knew when he was young. But his daughter isn't a bit like him. She takes after her mother, so I understand, who was a very fine woman."

"Does Mr. Sinclair live here all the time?" David inquired. "I never heard of him before."

"Oh, no. He has a big house in the city. He only bought this place last summer. Lois has never been here before. She came two weeks ago and I think she is going to stay till fall. I hope she does, anyway.

Won't it be great to have her here, so we can meet her and talk to her every Sat.u.r.day afternoon?"

"She seems to be a very fine young woman," David a.s.sented.

"Indeed she is, and she's a nurse, too. She's been away training in some hospital for several years, and has just got through."

"Why should she want to be a nurse?" David asked. "If her father has plenty of money why should his daughter want to earn her own living?"

"It's because she's so independent, that's why. She believes every one should earn her own living, and I guess she's right."

A pained expression suddenly overspread the old man's face at these words. But so engrossed was Betty with her own thoughts that she noticed nothing amiss.

"I am going to be a nurse some day," the girl continued. "Just as soon as I am old enough I am going to enter a hospital. Then when I get through I can earn so much money and be such a help at home. And I'm going to help you, too," she added as an afterthought.

"No, child, that will not be necessary then," David replied. "I shall have plenty of money of my own by the time you are a nurse. I shall be manager of the biggest company the country has ever known, for it cannot be long now before people realise how wonderful is the scheme I have worked out. They have been very slow to see, but I am sure that a great change is soon to take place."

"But you might be sick, though," the girl insisted, "and will need me to nurse you. I won't charge you anything, for I shall gladly do it for nothing because it will be you."

"Oh, I wouldn't let you do it for nothing," was the reply. "I shall pay you well and make up for all your kindness to me now when I am so poor."

In this manner the two sat and talked. Happy were they for the time, thinking and planning of the future which looked so bright in their eyes. Neither did they notice for a while where they had drifted, for a stiff wind had risen and was drawing down the creek. It was Betty who first realised their situation.

"Oh, look where we are!" she cried, seizing the oars, and placing them in the row-locks. "We can never get back against this wind, and the water is getting rougher all the time. I believe it is going to rain."

"Let me row," David suggested. "I should be stronger than you."

"Did you ever row?" the girl asked.

"Only once. But I think I could do it, though."

"Well, I don't think you could. You're not nearly as strong as I am."

With that she settled herself to the task of pulling back into the creek against the wind which was dead ahead. For some time there was silence as she toiled steadily at the oars. Gradually, however, her strokes became weaker, and she was forced to rest.

"I can't do it," she gasped. "The wind is too strong."

"What are we to do, then?" David asked.

"Land on that sh.o.r.e over there. I guess we can reach it all right."

Again seizing the oars, she swung the boat partly around and pointed for the sh.o.r.e. It was much easier now, and she made considerable progress. The wind increased in strength, and at times the water dashed over the side of the boat. To add to their discomfort the rain began to fall, and by the time the sh.o.r.e was reached their clothes were wet, and David felt cold.

"Help me pull up the boat," Betty ordered. "We'll tie it to that tree, and then we'll look around for some shelter. There's a raftsman's cabin not far away, and maybe we can stay there."

With the boat securely fastened, they made their way along the sh.o.r.e until they came to a path leading up from the water. Following this through the bushes, they soon reached an open s.p.a.ce, and there before them appeared a small building covered with tarred paper.

"That's the place," Betty exclaimed, "and I know there is a stove there for I was in it once. The raftsmen used it this last spring. We can build a fire and dry our clothes before we go home."

Betty was the first to reach the cabin, and as she pushed open the door she gave a cry of surprise.

"What's the matter?" David inquired, thinking that she had been frightened.

But Betty did not at once reply. She stood in the middle of the room, looking around in a bewildered manner.

"Well I never!" she at length declared. "Why the place is all fixed up, and somebody must surely be living here. Who can it be, for I never heard a word about it, and I thought that I knew everything that was going on in this parish. Just look at that table now, with the dishes all washed so clean. And there are books, too," she added, "and pictures on the wall. I never knew a man could keep a room so neat."

"How do you know that it is a man?" David asked. "Perhaps it is a woman."

"Why, that's easy enough," and Betty looked around the room. "Don't you see a man's boots there, his clothes hanging up by the stove, and a package of tobacco on the window-sill? I guess it's a man all right."

"Perhaps you are right," David a.s.sented. "You know more about such things than I do. Anyway, it's nice to be here out of the storm. But do you think the man will mind when he comes back and finds us here?

He might be very angry with us."

"Let him get angry, then," and Betty gave her head a slight toss. "I don't care for angry men. If I can match Jim Goban, I guess I can handle any man who comes here. Leave that to me, and don't you worry.

I'm going to do a little exploring, anyway. I want to see what's in that other room. Ah, just what I thought," she continued, when she had opened the door and entered. "It's the bed-room, and the bed is not made. That shows all right that a man lives here. A woman would never think of going away and leaving the bed like that. I'm going to open the window and air the room. Men always keep the windows shut tight, and the house gets so stuffy. There, that's better," she panted, as after some difficulty she forced the window up. "I'm going to make up that bed just as soon as I get the fire going."

There was a box full of dry wood behind the stove, and soon she had a fire burning brightly. She next partly filled a small kettle with water and set it upon the stove.

"You had better take off your wet coat," she suggested to David.

"You'll get your death of cold if you keep it on much longer."