February had come, bringing in its train such weather as verified the warmest praise of New Mexico's perfect climate.

It was on one of its most spring-like afternoons that a walking party of eight set out to pay a long-proposed visit to the ladies at Hilton Ranch.

As the little party went gayly along the mesa, Leon, carrying his gun, shot doves for the evening meal, while the rest walked on, chatting merrily.

The ladies talking over, by the way, the late attempt of the Apache on Hilton Ranch, Mrs. Bixbee declared herself curious to see the cellar in which Miss Paulina had caught that prowling savage. On their arrival that good lady, informed of this desire, kindly proceeded to gratify her guest, and the entire party was presently led by her to the kitchen, the hero of this adventure modestly walking beside the fair lady of his love. Sholto, busied about the place, was just then out of call, and Miss Hemmenshaw, intent to afford them a peep into the cellar, begged the Harvard man to raise for her the heavy trap-door.

The dear lady never quite knew how it was that, leaning forward, she lost her balance, and, but for the prompt help of Roger Smith, might have landed, pell-mell, on the cellar bottom; or how, in rescuing her, he himself made the misstep that, ere he could recover his poise, threw him to the end of the ladder-like cellar stairs.

Recovering breath, Roger Smith cheerily called up to the affrighted group at the top, "All right!" but, on pulling himself together to make the ascent, he suddenly found all wrong. He had sprained his ankle; and it was with painful effort that he won to the top. At this juncture Sholto, aroused by the unwonted rumpus, made his appearance, anticipating no less a disaster than the reappearance of the slippery savage, for whom he still held the lasso "in pickle." Disabled by the sprain, the Harvard man submitted himself to the stout arms of the Mexican, and, by Miss Paulina's direction, was carried into the bedroom adjoining the ranch parlor.

There, laid upon a movable couch which served the double purpose of sofa and bed, Sholto having, not without difficulty, removed his boot and stocking, he submitted the swollen foot to the careful inspection of Miss Hemmenshaw, who, with a steadiness of nerve not unworthy of her "Chapter," put the dislocated joint in place, bandaged the injured member with arnica, administered an internal dose of the same restorative, and duly followed it with a glass of old Port. This done, Sholto wheeled the sufferer's couch into the adjoining parlor. Half an hour later Leon came in with a well-filled game-bag; and after an hour of mild Koshare merriment, in which the athlete but feebly joined (the pain of his ankle was still terrible), the little party took its way, in the fading sunlight, to Alamo Ranch. Miss Paulina, having promptly decided that her patient was unequal to the return by way of the jolting Hilton express team, sent to Mrs. Brown an order for supper for her guest, Louise, and herself. It was duly conveyed to Hilton's by an Alamo chore-boy. Sholto, as the sole male dependence of Hilton's, must stick to his post; for, sagely observed the "Daughter of the Revolution," two women, heroic though they might be, were no match for an Apache marauder; and as for poor Roger Smith, he could now neither "fight" nor "run away."

Sholto lighted the lamps, laid the supper on the low Queen Anne table, added fresh water from the spring, and when a pot of tea had been made by the hostess' own careful hand, and Sholto had wheeled up the couch of the invalid, that he might take his supper À la Roman, the three made a cheery meal.

When the man had removed the supper things, and piled fresh wood on the andirons, the ladies brought their work-baskets; and while they busied themselves with doily and centre-piece, the Harvard man, lying in the comfort of partial relief from pain, watched the dainty fingers of Louise Hemmenshaw as she bent industriously over her embroidery, and fell fathoms deeper in love with the dear and beautiful girl.

Roger Smith stayed on at Hilton Ranch, where, thrown day after day in semi-helplessness on the kind attendance of Miss Paulina and the sweet society of her niece, he (I grieve to say) fell a ready prey to the suggestions of a certain wily personage who (according to Dr. Watts) finds employment for idle hands, and thus conceived the wickedness of cunningly using this accident to further his own personal ends. Thus devil-tempted, this hitherto upright young person resolved that it should be a long day before his sprained ankle should permit him to return to Brown's, and lose this precious opportunity of establishing himself in the good graces of the aunt, and winning the love of the niece.

Far from approving the crooked policy which led Roger Smith to feign lameness long after the injured ankle had become as sound as ever, the present historian can only, in view of this lapse from integrity, affirm with Widow Bedott that "we're poor creeturs!" and, with that depreciative view of humanity, go on with this truthful narrative.

A whole delicious month had been passed by the Harvard man in this paradise,—Elysian days, while, waited on by Sholto, petted by Miss Paulina, and companioned by the loveliest of houris, he dreamed out his dream.

At last, on a certain decisive evening, Roger Smith found himself alone in the gloaming with Louise Hemmenshaw. The aunt, who through all these weeks had zealously chaperoned her niece, had passed into the dining-room to evolve some chafing-dish delicacy for the evening meal. Without, the setting sun flooded all the west with gold, touched the distant mountain peaks with splendor, and threw a parting veil of glory over the wide mesa. Within, the firelight made dancing shadows on the parlor wall, where the pair sat together in that eloquent silence so dear to love. "Well," said the athlete to himself (compunctiously glancing at his superfluous crutches, left within easy reach of his hand), "this performance can't go on forever. I have made believe about long enough; what better may I do than own up this very night, and somehow bring this base deceit to an end."

Mentally rehearsing the formula, in which, over and over, he had asked the hand of this beautiful aristocrat, his mind still sorely misgave him. "Why," thought this depressed lover, "was not my name Winthrop, Endicott, or Sturgis, instead of Smith; and my grandfather a senator, a judge, or even a stockbroker, rather than a tanner?"

Neither Miss Paulina nor her brother, he discouragedly mused, would ever countenance this unequal match. His millions would with them weigh nothing against "the claims of long descent."

The sun had gone down, the after-glow had faded to gray. They were still alone. The firelight half revealed the lovely figure beside the hearth. In that gown of golden-brown velvet, with the creamy old lace at wrists and throat, the brown hair combed smoothly from the white forehead, knotted behind and fastened with a quaint arrow of Etruscan gold, Louise Hemmenshaw was simply adorable! It was indeed good to be here; and why should not a life so sweet and satisfying go on indefinitely?

"It is four weeks to-day since I fell down cellar,"—such was the commonplace beginning to this much considered tale of love.

"Really?" said the lady, looking innocently up from an absorbed contemplation of the fender. "It has not seemed so long. I never before realized what a serious thing it is to sprain one's ankle. You have been a most patient sufferer, Mr. Smith; and, indeed, for the past two weeks, a most jolly one. Aunt Paulina was saying to-day that it was high time we all went back to Alamo for our meals, and helped out the Koshare doings of the Club."

"Dear Miss Hemmenshaw," here blurted out the culprit, "do not despise me for my meanness, since it is all for love of you that I have been shamming lameness. For these last two weeks I could at any time have walked as well as ever." And, hereupon, without the slightest reference to his crutches, he rose from his chair and skipped over to her side. "A sprain," explained this audacious lover, "may be cured in a fortnight, but it takes a good month to woo and win a fair lady. Having soon after my accident decided that point, I have done my best. Tell me, dear Louise," pleaded he, "that my time has been well spent. Say that, deceitful ingrate though I am, you will take me, for good and all."

"Roger Smith," replied the lady, with much severity, "you have repaid the devoted care of two unsuspecting females by a whole fortnight of wilful duplicity. For my aunt I cannot answer; for myself, I can only reply,—since to err is human; to forgive, womanlike,—dear Roger, on the whole, I will."

Miss Paulina, a moment later entering the parlor, surprised her invalid guest, standing crutchless on his firm feet, with his arm thrown about the waist of her niece. "Well, well!" exclaimed the astonished lady, "and without his crutches!"

"Dear Miss Paulina," said Roger Smith with a happy laugh, "my ankle is as well as ever; and your niece has promised to marry me. Say that you will have me for your nephew."

"I seem already to have gotten you, my good sir, whether I will or no," laughed Miss Hemmenshaw. "But, my stars and garters" (mentally added she), "what ever will my brother say? A tanner's grandson coming into the family! and he a Hemmenshaw, and as proud as Lucifer!" "Never mind, Auntie dear," said the smiling fiancÉe, guessing her thoughts. It will be all right with father when he comes to know Roger; and besides, let us remember that under the 'Star Spangled Banner' we have our 'Vanderbilts,' our 'Goulds,' and our 'Rockefellers;' but no Vere de Veres. And if we had, why, Love laughs at heraldry, and is

"To-morrow," said Miss Paulina decisively, "we will all dine at Alamo Ranch."