"I know every foot of this hill, Mrs.
Horncastle," he said, "and if you will follow me I'll take you to one of
the loveliest nooks you ever dreamed of. It's an old Indian spring now
forgotten, and I think known only to me and the birds. It's not more
than ten minutes from here; only"--he hesitated as he caught sight
of the smart French bronze buckled shoe and silken ankle which
Mrs. Horncastle's gathering up of her dainty skirts around her had
disclosed--"it may be a little rough and dusty going to your feet."
But Mrs. Horncastle pointed out that she had already irretrievably
ruined her shoes and stockings in climbing up to him,--although Barker
could really distinguish no diminution of their freshness,--and that
she might as well go on. Whereat they both passed down the long aisle of
slope to a little hollow of manzanita, which again opened to a view of
Black Spur, but left the hotel hidden.
"What time did Kitty go?" began Barker eagerly, when they were half down
the slope.
But here Mrs. Horncastle's foot slipped upon the glassy pine-needles,
and not only stopped an answer, but obliged Barker to give all his
attention to keep his companion from falling again until they reached
the open. Then came the plunge through the manzanita thicket, then a
cool wade through waist-deep ferns, and then they emerged, holding each
other's hand, breathless and panting before the spring.
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