Once on their way, Mr. Brice’s spirits returned.  “I told you last night,” he said, “that I hoped to meet you the next time with a better introduction.  You suggested your uncle’s.  Well, are you satisfied?”

“But you didn’t come to see me,” said the girl mischievously.

“How do you know what my intentions were?” returned the young man gayly, gazing at the girl’s charming face with a serious doubt as to the singleness of his own intentions.

“Oh, because I know,” she answered, with a toss of her brown head.  “I heard what you said to uncle Harry.”

Mr. Brice’s brow contracted.  “Perhaps you saw me, too, when I came,” he said, with a slight touch of bitterness as he thought of his reception.

Miss Flo laughed.  Brice walked on silently; the girl was heartless and worthy of her education.  After a pause she said demurely, “I knew he wouldn’t hurt you—­but you didn’t.  That’s where you showed your grit in walking straight on.”

“And I suppose you were greatly amused,” he replied scornfully.

The girl lifted her arms a little wearily, as with a half sigh she readjusted her brown braids under her uncle’s gray slouch hat, which she had caught up as she passed out.  “Thar ain’t much to laugh at here!” she said.  “But it was mighty funny when you tried to put your hat straight, and then found thur was that bullet hole right through the brim!  And the way you stared at it—­Lordy!”

Her musical laugh was infectious, and swept away his outraged dignity.  He laughed too.  At last she said, gazing at his hat, “It won’t do for you to go back to your folks wearin’ that sort o’ thing.  Here!  Take mine!” With a saucy movement she audaciously lifted his hat from his head, and placed her own upon it.

“But this is your uncle’s hat,” he remonstrated.

“All the same; he spoiled yours,” she laughed, adjusting his hat upon her own head.  “But I’ll keep yours to remember you by.  I’ll loop it up by this hole, and it’ll look mighty purty.  Jes’ see!” She plucked a wild rose from a bush by the wayside, and, passing the stalk through the bullet hole, pinned the brim against the crown by a thorn.  “There,” she said, putting on the hat again with a little affectation of coquetry, “how’s that?”

Mr. Brice thought it very picturesque and becoming to the graceful head and laughing eyes beneath it, and said so.  Then, becoming in his turn audacious, he drew nearer to her side.

“I suppose you know the forfeit of putting on a gentleman’s hat?”

Apparently she did, for she suddenly made a warning gesture, and said, “Not here!  It would be a bigger forfeit than you’d keer fo’.”  Before he could reply she turned aside as if quite innocently, and passed into the shade of a fringe of buckeyes.  He followed quickly.  “I didn’t mean that,” she said; but in the mean time he had kissed the pink tip of her ear under its brown coils.  He was, nevertheless, somewhat discomfited by her undisturbed manner and serene face.  “Ye don’t seem to mind bein’ shot at,” she said, with an odd smile, “but it won’t do for you to kalkilate that everybody shoots as keerfully as uncle Harry.”