The position would not be without its difficulties, and the deception meant that he could never be to Mary Bransford what he wanted to be to her; but he could at least save the Double A for her.  That done, and his confession made, he could go on his way, satisfied that he had at least beaten Dale.

His decision made, Sanderson got up, opened the door a trifle, and looked into the sitting-room.  It was almost dusk, and, judging from the sounds that reached his ears from the direction of the kitchen, Mary intended to keep her promise regarding “supper.”

Feeling guilty, though grimly determined to continue the deception to the end—­whatever the end might be—­Sanderson stole through the sitting-room, out through the door leading to the porch, and made his way to a shed lean-to back of the kitchen.

There he found a tin washbasin, some water, and a towel, and for ten minutes he worked with them.  Then he discovered a comb, and a broken bit of mirror fixed to the wall of the lean-to, before which he combed his hair and studied his reflection.  He noted the unusual flush on his cheeks, but grinned brazenly into the glass.

“I’m sure some flustered,” he told his reflection.

Arrayed for a second inspection by Mary Bransford, Sanderson stood for a long time at the door of the lean-to, trying to screw up his courage to the point of confronting the girl.

He succeeded finally, and walked slowly to the outside kitchen door, where he stood, looking in at Mary.

The girl was working over the stove, from which, floating to the doorway where Sanderson stood, came various delicious odors.

Mary was arrayed in a neat-fitting house dress of some soft print material, with a huge apron over it.  Her sleeves were rolled slightly above the elbows; her face was flushed, and when she turned and saw Sanderson her eyes grew very bright.

“Oh,” she said; “you are up!  I was just thinking of calling you!” She ran to him, threw her arms around him, and, in spite of his efforts to evade her, she kissed him first on one cheek and then on the other.

Noting his reluctance she stepped back and looked reprovingly at him.

“You seem so distant, Will.  And I am so glad to see you!”

“I ain’t used to bein’ kissed, I expect.”

“But—­by your sister!”

He reddened.  “I ain’t seen you for a long time, you know.  Give me time, an’ mebbe I’ll get used to it.”

“I hope so,” she smiled.  “I should feel lost if I could not kiss my brother.  You have washed, too!” she added, noting his glowing face and his freshly combed hair.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mary!” she corrected.

“Mary,” grinned Sanderson.

Mary turned to the stove.  “You go out and find a chair on the porch,” she directed, over her shoulder.  “I’ll have supper ready in a jiffy.  It’s too hot for you in here.”