At last they were on their return, and were all grouped together on a little bluff, watching the water pour foamingly through a narrow gorge.

“Oh, see,” cried Elsie, suddenly pointing to the opposite bank, “what beautiful moss that is over there!  It is just the kind I have been wanting.  Oh, dear! there isn’t a bridge within half a mile.”

Stanhope glanced around a moment, and then said gallantly, “I will get you the moss, Miss Alford.”  They saw that in some inconceivable way he intended crossing where they stood.  The gorge was much too wide for the most vigorous leap, so Elsie exclaimed eagerly: 

“Oh, please don’t take any risk!  What is a little moss?”

“I say, Stanhope,” remonstrated George, seriously, “it would be no laughing matter if you should fall in there.”

But Stanhope only smiled, threw off his overcoat, and buttoned his undercoat closely around him.  George groaned to himself, “This will be worse than the kissing scrape,” and was about to lay a restraining grasp upon his friend.  But he slipped away, and lightly went up hand-over-hand a tall, slender sapling on the edge of the bank, the whole party gathering round in breathless expectation.  Having reached its slender, swaying top, he threw himself out on the land side.  The tree bent at once to the ground with his weight, but without snapping, showing that it was tough and fibrous.  Holding firmly to the top, he gave a strong spring, which, with the spring of the bent sapling, sent him well over the gorge on the firm ground beyond.

There was a round of applause from the little group he had just left, in which Elsie joined heartily.  Her eyes were glowing with admiration, for when was not power and daring captivating to a woman?  Then, in sudden alarm and forgetfulness of her former coolness, she exclaimed: 

“But how will you get back?”

“This is my bridge,” he replied, smiling brightly across to her, and holding on to the slender young tree.  “You perceive that I was brought up in the country.”

So saying, he tied the sapling down to a root with a handkerchief, and then proceeded to fill another with moss.

As George saw Elsie’s face while she watched Stanhope gather the coveted trifle, he chuckled to himself—­

“The ice is broken between them now.”

But Stanhope had insecurely fastened the sapling down.  The strain upon the knot was too severe, and suddenly the young tree flew up and stood erect but quivering, with his handkerchief fluttering in its top as a symbol of defeat.  There was an exclamation of dismay and Elsie again asked with real anxiety in her tone: 

“How will you get back now?”

Stanhope shrugged his shoulders.

“I confess I am defeated, for there is no like sapling on this side; but I have the moss, and can join you at the bridge below, if nothing better offers.”

“George,” said Elsie, indignantly, “don’t go away and leave Mr. Stanhope’s handkerchief in that tree.”