“Just—­about, I guess!” Anne answered briefly.  Both girls’ faces were red.  They had rarely touched upon these and kindred subjects in their talks with each other; they had never discussed them with any one else.  Anne liked to fancy herself rather worldly wise; Alix had an independent brain and tongue.  But in their household there was no older woman to illumine their confused guessing with an occasional word now and then, even if an unusually wholesome out-of-door life had not distracted their attention from the problems raised in books, and their isolation had not protected them from the careless talk of other girls of their ages.

August brought Martin, and more changes.  He was delighted with his work in the El Nido mine, the “Emmy Younger,” and everything he had to say about it was amusing and interesting.  It was still in a rather chaotic condition, he reported, but the “stuff” was there, and he anticipated a busy winter.  He was to have a cottage, a pretty crude affair, in a few weeks, right at the mine.

“How does that listen to you?” he asked Cherry.  Cherry was sitting beside him, at the dinner table, on the first night of his arrival.  She was thrilling still to the memory of his greeting kiss, its fresh odour of shaving soap and witch hazel, and the clean touch of his smooth-shaven cheek.  She gave her father a demure and interrogative glance.  Martin, following it, immediately sobered.

“Just what is your position there?” the doctor asked, pleasantly.

“A little bit of everything now,” Martin answered, readily and respectfully.  “Later, of course, I shall have my own special work.  At present I’m doing some of the assaying, and have charge of the sluice-gang.  They want me to make myself generally useful, make suggestions, take hold in every way!”

“That’s the way to get on,” the older man said, approvingly.  Cherry looked admiringly, with all her heart in her eyes, at her husband-to-be; the other girls were impressed, too.  Martin brought a new element, something masculine and modern, to their quiet dinner table.  Dad and Peter were men, to be sure, but they were different.  They were only a little more dear and amusing and real than the men in Dickens’ novels, long familiar and beloved in the household.  But Martin made the girls feel suddenly in touch with real life.

He had kissed Alix and Anne, upon arriving, and they liked it.  Both the older girls, in fact, were so impressed with the brilliancy of Cherry’s prospects, with the extraordinary distinction she possessed in having a promised husband, with whom to walk about the woods and to talk of the future, that they could forgive Cherry for being wrapped in a sort of dream.  Her new name, her new state, her new clothes, and home and position filled her thoughts, and theirs.  Martin had not been with them more than a few hours before the engagement was openly discussed, and there were constant references to Cherry’s marriage.