and then go dancing over the rapids, even as Carlia’s sticks had done.  For a moment the young man’s thoughts were with his books, and it seemed that he stood there in the canal for quite a while in a sort of daze, with the water rushing by his legs.  Then mechanically he carried the girl to the bank and would have set her down again with her companions, but she clung to him so closely and with such terror in her eyes that he lifted her into his arms and talked reassuringly to her: 

“There, now,” he said, “you’re only a bit wet.  Don’t cry.”

“Take me home.  I—­I want to go home,” sobbed the girl.

“Sure,” said Dorian.  “Come on everybody.”

He led the way, and the rest of the children followed.

“I suppose the party’s about over, anyway,” suggested he.

“I—­I guess so.”

They walked on in silence for a time; then Carlia said: 

“I guess I’m heavy.”

“Not at all”, lied the young man bravely, for she was heavier than he had supposed; but she made no offer to walk.  By the time they reached the gate, Carlia was herself again, and inclined to look upon her wetting and escape as quite an adventure.

“There,” said Dorian as he seated the girl on the broad top of the gate post; “I’ll leave you there to dry.  It won’t take long.”

He looked at his own wet clothes, and then at his ragged, mud-laden shoes.  He might as well carry the girl up the path to her home, but then, that was not necessary.  The day was warm, there was no danger of colds, and she could run up the path in a few minutes.

“Well, I’ll go now.  Goodby,” he said.

“Wait a minute—­Say, I’m glad you saved me, but I’m sorry you lost your package.  What was in it?”

“Only books.”

“I’ll get you some more, when I get the money, yes I will.  Come here and lift me down before you go.”

He obeyed.  She put a wet arm about his neck and cuddled her dark, damp curls against his russet mop.  He lifted her lightly down, and then he slipped a chocolate secretly into her hand.

“Oh girls,” exclaimed one of the party, “I know now.”

“Know what?” asked Carlia.

“I know who you are going to marry.”

“Who?”

“You’re going to marry Dorian.”

CHAPTER TWO.

The disposition to lie or evade never remained long with Dorian Trent; but that evening as he turned into the lane which led up to the house, he was sorely-tempted.  Once or twice only, as nearly as he could remember, had he told an untruth to his mother with results which he would never forget.  He must tell her the truth now.

But he would put off the ordeal as long as possible.  There could be no harm in that.  Everything was quiet about the house, as his mother was away.  He hurriedly divested himself of his best clothes and put on his overalls.  He took the milk pail and hung it on the fence until he brought the cows from the pasture.  After milking, he did his other chores.  There were no signs of mother.  The dusk turned to darkness, yet no light appeared in the house.  Dorian went in and lighted the lamp and proceeded to get supper.