Michael O'Halloran. Stratton-Porter Gene

      "Douglas," called Leslie over the telephone, "I have developed nerves."

      "Why?" inquired he.

      "Dad has just come in with a pair of waist-high boots, and a scalping knife, I think," answered Leslie. "Are you going to bring a blanket and a war bonnet?"

      "The blanket, I can; the bonnet, I might," said Douglas.

      "How early will you be ready?" she asked.

      "Whenever you say," he replied.

      "Five?" she queried.

      "Very well!" he answered. "And Leslie, I would suggest a sweater, short stout skirts, and heavy gloves. Do you know if you are susceptible to poison vines?"

      "I have handled anything wild as I pleased all my life," she said. "I am sure there is no danger from that source; but Douglas, did you ever hear of, or see, a massasauga?"

      "You are perfectly safe on that score," he said. "I am going along especially to take care of you."

      "All right, then I won't be afraid of snakes," she said.

      "I have waders, too," he said, "and I'm going into the swamp with you.

       Wherever you wish to go, I will precede you and test the footing."

      "Very well! I have lingered on the borders long enough. To-morrow will be my initiation. By night I'll have learned the state of my artistic ability with natural resources, and I'll know whether the heart of the swamp is the loveliest sight I ever have seen, and I will have proved how I 'line up' with a squaw-woman."

      "Leslie, I'm now reading a most interesting human document," said Douglas, "and in it I have reached the place where Indians in the heart of terrific winter killed and heaped up a pile of deer in early day in Minnesota, then went to camp rejoicing, while their squaws were left to walk twenty-eight miles and each carry back on her shoulder a deer frozen stiff. Leslie, you don't line up! You are not expected to."

      "Do you believe that, Douglas?" asked the girl.

      "It's history dear, not fiction," he answered.

      "Douglas!" she warned.

      "Leslie, I beg your pardon! That was a slip!" cried he.

      "Oh!" she breathed.

      "Leslie, will you do something for me?" he questioned.

      "What?" she retorted.

      "Listen with one ear, stop the other, and tell me what you hear," he ordered.

      "Yes," she said.

      "Did you hear, Leslie?" he asked anxiously.

      "I heard something, I don't know what," she answered.

      "Can you describe it, Leslie?"

      "Just a rushing, beating sound! What is it Douglas?"

      "My heart, Leslie, sending to you each throbbing stroke of my manhood pouring out its love for you."

      "Oh-h-h!" cried the astonished girl.

      "Will you listen again, Leslie?" begged the man.

      "No!" she said.

      "You don't want to hear what my heart has to say to you?" he asked.

      "Not over a wire! Not so far away!" she panted.

      "Then I'll shorten the distance. I'm coming, Leslie!"

      "What shall I do?" she gasped. She stared around her, trying to decide whether she should follow her impulse to hide, when her father entered the room.

      "Daddy," she cried, "if you want to be nice to me, go away a little while. Go somewhere a few minutes and stay until I call you."

      "Leslie, what's the matter?" he asked.

      "I've been talking to Douglas, and Daddy, he's coming like a charging

       Highland trooper. Daddy, I heard him drop the receiver and start.

       Please, please go away a minute. Even the dearest father in the world

       can't do anything now! We must settle this ourselves."

      "I'm not to be allowed a word?" he protested.

      "Daddy, you've had two years! If you know anything to say against

       Douglas and haven't said it in all that time, why should you begin now?

       You couldn't help knowing! Daddy, do go! There he is! I hear him!"

      Mr. Winton took his daughter in his arms, kissed her tenderly, and left the room. A second later Douglas Bruce entered. Rushing to Leslie he caught her to his breast roughly, while with a strong hand he pressed her ear against his heart.

      "Now you listen, my girl!" he cried. "You listen at close range."

      Leslie remained quiet a long second. Then she lifted her face, adorable, misty eyed and tenderly smiling.

      "Douglas, I never listened to a heart before! How do I know what it is saying? I can't tell whether it is talking about me or protesting against the way you've been rushing around!" "No levity, my lady," he said grimly. "This is serious business. You listen while I interpret. I love you, Leslie! Every beat, every stroke, love for you. I claim you! My mate! My wife! I want you!"

      He held her from him, looking into her eyes.

      "Now Leslie, the answer!" he cried. "May I listen to it or will you tell me? Is there any answer? What is your heart saying? May I hear or will you tell me?"

      "I want to tell you!" said the girl. "I love you, Douglas! Every beat, every stroke, love for you."

      Early the next morning they inspected their equipment carefully, then drove north to the tamarack swamp, where they arranged that Leslie and Douglas were to hunt material, while Mr. Winton and the driver went to the nearest Indian settlement to find the squaw who had made the other basket, and bring her to the swamp.

      If you have experienced the same emotions you will know how Douglas and Leslie felt when hand in hand they entered the swamp on a perfect morning in late May. If you have not, mere words are inadequate.

      Through fern and brake head high, through sumac, willow, elder, buttonbush, gold-yellow and blood-red osiers, past northern holly, over spongy moss carpet of palest silvery green up-piled for ages, over red-veined pitcher plants spilling their fullness, among scraggy, odorous tamaracks, beneath which cranberries and rosemary were blooming; through ethereal pale mists of dawn, in their ears lark songs of morning from the fields, hermit thrushes in the swamp, bell birds tolling molten notes, in a minor strain a swelling chorus of sparrows, titmice, warblers, vireos, went two strong, healthy young people newly promised for "better or worse." They could only look, stammer, flush, and utter broken exclamations, all about "better." They could not remotely conceive that life might serve them the cruel trick of "worse."

      Leslie sank to her knees. Douglas lifted her up, set her on the firmest location he could see, adoring her with his eyes and reverent touch. Since that first rough grasp as he drew her to him, Leslie had felt positively fragile in his hands. She smiled at him her most beautiful smile when wide-eyed with emotion.

      "Douglas, why just now, when you've waited two years?" she asked.

      "Wanted a degree of success to offer," he answered.

      Leslie disdained the need for success.

      "Wanted you to have time to know me as completely as possible."

      Leslie intimated that she could learn faster.

      "Wanted to have the acknowledged right to put my body between yours and any danger this swamp might have to offer to-day."

      "Exactly what I thought!" cried she.

      "Wise girl," commented the man.

      "Douglas, I must hurry!" said Leslie. "It may take a long