and would have been glad to establish friendly relations with her.  But she would not give him an opportunity.  She avoided him on all possible occasions.  Though Alfred was fast succumbing to the charm of Betty’s beautiful face, though his desire to be near her had grown well nigh resistless, his pride had not yet broken down.  Many of the summer evenings found him on the Colonel’s doorstep, smoking a pipe, or playing with the children.  He was that rare and best company—­a good listener.  Although he laughed at Colonel Zane’s stories, and never tired of hearing of Isaac’s experiences among the Indians, it is probable he would not have partaken of the Colonel’s hospitality nearly so often had it not been that he usually saw Betty, and if he got only a glimpse of her he went away satisfied.  On Sundays he attended the services at the little church and listened to Betty’s sweet voice as she led the singing.

There were a number of girls at the fort near Betty’s age.  With all of these Alfred was popular.  He appeared so entirely different from the usual young man on the frontier that he was more than welcome everywhere.  Girls in the backwoods are much the same as girls in thickly populated and civilized districts.  They liked his manly ways; his frank and pleasant manners; and when to these virtues he added a certain deferential regard, a courtliness to which they were unaccustomed, they were all the better pleased.  He paid the young women little attentions, such as calling on them, taking them to parties and out driving, but there was not one of them who could think that she, in particular, interested him.

The girls noticed, however, that he never approached Betty after service, or on any occasion, and while it caused some wonder and gossip among them, for Betty enjoyed the distinction of being the belle of the border, they were secretly pleased.  Little hints and knowing smiles, with which girls are so skillful, made known to Betty all of this, and, although she was apparently indifferent, it hurt her sensitive feelings.  It had the effect of making her believe she hated the cause of it more than ever.

What would have happened had things gone on in this way, I am not prepared to say; probably had not a meddling Fate decided to take a hand in the game, Betty would have continued to think she hated Alfred, and I would never have had occasion to write his story; but Fate did interfere, and, one day in the early fall, brought about an incident which changed the whole world for the two young people.

It was the afternoon of an Indian summer day—­in that most beautiful time of all the year—­and Betty, accompanied by her dog, had wandered up the hillside into the woods.  From the hilltop the broad river could be seen winding away in the distance, and a soft, bluish, smoky haze hung over the water.  The forest seemed to be on fire.  The yellow leaves of the poplars, the brown of the white and black oaks, the red and purple of the maples, and the green of the pines and hemlocks flamed in a glorious blaze of color.  A stillness, which was only broken now and then by the twittering of birds uttering the plaintive notes peculiar to them in the autumn as they band together before their pilgrimage to the far south, pervaded the forest.