ike effort to appear to disbelieve him.
The stranger could not suppress a smile; but the next moment he was serious, and asked:
"And am I never going to see you again? Won't you tell me where I can find you?"
Once more the Girl was conscious of a feeling of embarrassment. Not that she was at all ashamed of being "The Girl of The Polka Saloon," for that never entered her mind; but she suddenly realised that it was one thing to converse pleasantly with a young man on the highway and another to let him come to her home on Cloudy Mountain. Only too well could she imagine the cool reception, if it stopped at that, that the boys of the camp there would accord to this stylish stranger. As a consequence, she was torn by conflicting emotions: an overwhelming desire to see him again, and a dread of what might happen to him should he descend upon Cloudy Mountain with all his fine airs and graces.
"I guess I'm queer--" she began uncertainly and then stopped in sudden surprise. Too long had she delayed her ans