“How’s Mavis, Jason?”

“She’s well as common.”

“You didn’t see Gray?”

“No.”

“I got a letter from him yesterday.  He’s living right above Mavis.  He says she is more beautiful than ever, and he’s already crazy about his life down there—­and the mountains.”

“I’m mighty glad.”

She turned to go, and the boy walked down the hill to open the gate for her—­and sidewise Marjorie scrutinized him.  Jason had grown taller, darker, his hair was longer, his clothes were worn and rather shabby, the atmosphere of the hills still invested him, and he was more like the Jason she had first seen, so that the memories of childhood were awakened in the girl and she softened toward him.  When she passed through the gate and turned her horse toward him again, the boy folded his arms over the gate, and his sunburnt hands showed to Marjorie’s eyes the ravages of hard work.

“Why haven’t you been over to see me, Jason?” she asked gently.

“I just got back this mornin’.”

“Why, Gray wrote you left home several days ago.”

“I did—­but I stopped on the way to visit some kinfolks.”

“Oh.  Well, aren’t you coming?  I’m lonesome, and I guess you will be too—­without Mavis.”

“I won’t have time to get lonesome.”

The girl smiled.

“That’s ungracious—­but I want you to take the time.”

The boy looked at her; since his trial he had hardly spoken to her, and had rarely seen her.  Somehow he had come to regard his presence at Colonel Pendleton’s the following Christmas night as but a generous impulse on their part that was to end then and there.  He had kept away from Marjorie thereafter, and if he was not to keep away now, he must make matters very clear.

“Maybe your mother won’t like it,” he said gravely.  “I’m a jail-bird.”

“Don’t, Jason,” she said, shocked by his frankness; “you couldn’t help that.  I want you to come.”

Jason was reddening with embarrassment now, but he had to get out what had been so long on his mind.

“I’m comin’ once anyhow.  I know what she did for me and I’m comin’ to thank her for doin’ it.”

Marjorie was surprised and again she smiled.

“Well, she won’t like that, Jason,” she said, and the boy, not misunderstanding, smiled too.

“I’m comin’.”

Marjorie turned her horse.

“I hope I’ll be at home.”

Her mood had turned to coquetry again.  Jason had meant to tell her that he knew she herself had been behind her mother’s kindness toward him, but a sudden delicacy forbade, and to her change of mood he answered: 

“You will be—­when I come.”

This was a new deftness for Jason, and a little flush of pleasure came to the girl’s cheeks and a little seriousness to her eyes.

“Well, you are mighty nice, Jason—­good-by.”

“Good-by,” said the boy soberly.