Under the Big Dipper

outlines of beams and eaves against the bit of sky visible above the tops of the tall trees. In the deep shadow of the porch her eyes, now accustomed to the doubtful light, made out the shapes of the bench and the packages with which it was loaded. She hoped no one would find her there. It was very cold, but she wrapped herself in the rug, glad of its protection.

Through the firs came the sound of the rushing waters of the stream in the gully; she could see the stars and a faintly brighter spot in the heavens toward the east. Leaning against the roughly hewn pillar in an attempt to rest, she now began to regret her childish flight from the room.

“Hello!” came in suppressed, but very peremptory tones, “who is there?”

The ever-watchful Morton stepped from the offing towards the gully.

“Oh—Mr. Morton—it is only I!” Her words came

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