She was neither alarmed nor annoyed.  She could easily overtake them soon, for they would miss her, and return or wait for her at the spring.  At the worst she would have no difficulty in retracing her steps home.  In her present mood, she could readily spare their company; indeed she was not sorry that no other being should interrupt that sympathy with the free woods which was beginning to possess her.

She was destined, however, to be disappointed.  She had not proceeded a hundred yards before she noticed the moving figure of a man beyond her in the hillside chaparral above the trail.  He seemed to be going in the same direction as herself, and, as she fancied, endeavoring to avoid her.  This excited her curiosity to the point of urging her horse forward until the trail broadened into the level forest again, which she now remembered was a part of the environs of Indian Spring.  The stranger hesitated, pausing once or twice with his back towards her, as if engaged in carefully examining the dwarf willows to select a switch.  Christie slightly checked her speed as she drew nearer; when, as if obedient to a sudden resolution, he turned and advanced towards her.  She was relieved and yet surprised to recognize the boyish face and figure of George Kearney.  He was quite pale and agitated, although attempting, by a jaunty swinging of the switch he had just cut, to assume the appearance of ease and confidence.

Here was an opportunity.  Christie resolved to profit by it.  She did not doubt that the young fellow had already passed her sister on the trail, but, from bashfulness, had not dared to approach her.  By inviting his confidence, she would doubtless draw something from him that would deny or corroborate her father’s opinion of his sentiments.  If he was really in love with Jessie, she would learn what reasons he had for expecting a serious culmination of his suit, and perhaps she might be able delicately to open his eyes to the truth.  If, as she believed, it was only a boyish fancy, she would laugh him out of it with that camaraderie which had always existed between them.  A half motherly sympathy, albeit born quite as much from a contemplation of his beautiful yearning eyes as from his interesting position, lightened the smile with which she greeted him.

“So you contrived to throw over your stupid business and join us, after all,” she said; “or was it that you changed your mind at the last moment?” she added mischievously.  “I thought only we women were permitted that!” Indeed, she could not help noticing that there was really a strong feminine suggestion in the shifting color and slightly conscious eyelids of the young fellow.

“Do young girls always change their minds?” asked George, with an embarrassed smile.

“Not, always; but sometimes they don’t know their own mind—­particularly if they are very young; and when they do at last, you clever creatures of men, who have interpreted their ignorance to please yourselves, abuse them for being fickle.”  She stopped to observe the effect of what she believed a rather clear and significant exposition of Jessie’s and George’s possible situation.  But she was not prepared for the look of blank resignation that seemed to drive the color from his face and moisten the fire of his dark eyes.