“Whew!” he ejaculated, “that was a narrow escape,” and he began to sort and arrange the sheets on the table.

“Sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two.  Now where in thunder is that sixty-three?”

A light touch on his arm made him spring to his feet, every nerve a-tingle.

“Here it is!  It seemed like it came to meet me.”

“Nella-Rose!”

The girl nodded, holding out the paper.

“So you have come?  Why—­did you?”

The dimples came into play and Truedale stood watching them while many emotions flayed him; but gradually his weakness passed and he was able to assume an extremely stern though kindly manner.  He meant to set the child right; he meant to see only the child in her until White returned; he would ignore the perilously sweet woman-appeal to his senses until such time as he could, with safety, let them once more hold part in their relations with each other.

But even as he arrived at this wise conclusion, he was noting, as often before he had noted, the fascinating colour and quality of Nella-Rose’s hair.  It was both dark and light.  If smoke were filled with sunlight it would be something like the mass of more or less loosened tendrils that crowned the girl’s pretty head.  Stern resolve began to melt before the girlish sweetness and audacity, but Truedale made one last struggle; he thought of staunch and true Brace Kendall!  And, be it to Brace Kendall’s credit, the course Conning endeavoured to take was a wise one.

“See here, Nella-Rose, you ought not to come here—­alone!”

“Why?  Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Of course.  But why did you come?” This was risky.  Truedale recognized it at once.

“Just to say—­’how-de’!  You certainly do look scroogy.”

At this Truedale laughed.  Nella-Rose’s capacity for bringing forth his happier, merrier nature was one of her endearing charms.

“You didn’t come just for that, Nella-Rose!” This with stern disapproval.

“Take off the scroogy face—­then I’ll tell you why I came.”

“Very well!” Truedale smiled weakly.  “Why?”

“I’m right hungry.  I—­I want a party.”

Of course this would never do.  White, or one of the blood-and-thunder raiders, might appear.

“You must go, Nella-Rose.”

“Not”—­here she sat down firmly and undid her ridiculous plaid shawl—­“not till you give me a bite.  Just a mighty little bite—­I’m starving!”

At this Truedale roared with laughter and went hurriedly to his closet.  The girl must eat and—­go.  Mechanically he set about placing food upon the table.  Then he sat opposite Nella-Rose while she ate with frank enjoyment the remains of his own noon-day meal.  He could not but note, as he often did, the daintiness with which she accomplished the task.  Other women, as Truedale remembered, were not prepossessing when attacking food; but this girl made a gracious little ceremony of the affair.  She placed the small dishes in orderly array before her; she poised herself lightly on the edge of the chair and nibbled—­there was no other word for it—­as a perky little chipmunk might, the morsels she raised gracefully to her mouth.  She was genuinely hungry and for a few minutes devoted her attention to the matter in hand.