H

ELLO, there! You!
Man!"

"Hello, there! You! Woman!"

These greetings were shouted one September morning in the White Mountains, in the neighborhood of Dead Diamond Stream, a wild region near the Maine border.

The first speaker was a woman. The man whom she had hailed had been in the act of repairing a sort of lean-to shacksome logger's camp of days gone by. He was dressed in rough tweeds, with bare arms, and hatless; but when he turned, surprised, in response to the woman's call, it became evident that he was not exactly a man of low degree.

"Oh, I beg pardon," said the woman, who was still some hundred feet or more away. "I thought you were just-a man.'

"Well, that's what I am," laughed the laborer.

"Yes," said the woman, "but I mean a common man."

"I am a common man, I assure you," said the laborer.

The woman had by now approached to within a few feet of the lean-to shelter. It was clear that she was a creature of gentle station, but her condition was strange to the point of amazement. In the small clearing the morning sun illuminated a pitiful figure, for the woman wore an evening gown, such as would be donned for a summer dance. The frock was torn to tatters, evidently by brambles and branches through which she had forced her way. Her satin shoes were mudstained and bruised; she had surely fallen, for her hands were cut and soiled; her hair was in disorder; her lips trembled and her eyes were wide with fear.

"Please don't jest," she pleaded. "I'm lost!"

"So am I," laughed the man. "How can you?" said the woman.

"Can't you see that I am in great distress? Please tell me the way to the Greenwood-Tree Hotel."

"Never heard of it," said the man. "I tell you, I'm lost, too. I am at work on this shack so that I shan't have to pass another night in the open. There's an old stove here. It's too cold to be out-ofdoors without a blanket."

The woman shivered. "My feet are wet through," she said. "I was out all night."

The man approached nearer. "You do look done up," said he. "Look here! You'd better take your shoes and stockings off and I'll make a fire in the stove." The woman seemed to hesitate. "There's no good standing on ceremony," said the man. "You'll catch cold if you don't look out."

"How can you be lost?" said the

woman.

"Well," laughed the man, "I'm only human. I got out of my skiff for a stroll and couldn't find the way back. I haven't the slightest notion where we are. I have been in the woods for three nights and have shouted myself silly. At last I came across this place. I think I shall live here for the rest of my life. I rather like it."

"But

"I'm starving," said the woman. "Yes; so was I," said the man. I have learned a thing or two. I'll feed you, but I shan't tell you what you're eating until to-morrow," and he went into the shack.

The woman followed, staggering from fatigue.

"Sit down there and take those wet shoes off," said he; "and, look here," he added, "put on my tweed coat. You're shivering. The fire and the sun will warm you up, to say nothing of this stew," and he placed a pot on the newly

made blaze.

The woman removed her shoes and stockings and rubbed her feet to restore

some warmth to them. The man placed his coat about her shoulders and arranged the stockings on sticks before the stove. "Really," said the woman, looking at him gratefully, "one should never judge by appearances."

"I can't agree with you there," said the man, busy with the stew. "In my life I have found that is the best way to judge. But one must have eyes, you know. It doesn't do for a blind man to judge by what he sees."

"Well, at a distance," said the woman, "I couldn't tell."

"Don't you think that it's better for people to judge what a man is by what he does rather than by what he says he is or by any labels he sticks or has had stuck upon himself?" said the man, stirring the stew and handing a battered tin mug of it to the woman.

"Oh, of course it is," and she sipped the stuff gratefully. "Yes, yes, of course, Mr. Mr.-?" and she hesitated for the expected information.

'Man!" said the man. "Mr. Man. I shan't tell you my name and I don't want to know yours," said he. "It will be more amusing for us to discover each other without any labels. Who knows how long we may have to stick this out. When we get back we'll tell each other who we are and see then what discrimination and what judgment we are capable of."

The woman laughed and looked up into a wholesome, candid countenance that smiled down on her with clear, kind eyes.

is here to burn. All that was needed was companionship, and that has been provided by the gods."

"But of course," said the woman, "we shall make some effort to escape from this situation."

"Ia good time," said the man carelessly. "For my part, I came up here to get away from the busy world. Too much civilization is bad for the soul."

"Too much of this, however, would deprive one of reason," said the woman. "I don't know," said the man. "It might bring us to our senses. By the way, your stockings are dry," and he handed them to her. "But"-and he regarded them critically-"these shoes are quite useless. I tell you what, I'll make you a pair. Here, I'll make a pair of soles out of this box lid, and then we'll use some twine from this sacking and some of the sacking itself by way of uppers, and we'll have regular sandals. Splendid, eh? I told you so-necessity and all the rest of it, eh?"

"Really!" said the woman, "you're a resourceful person."

"Not quite as resourceful as the beaver or the wren," said the man, "to say nothing of the spider or the bee. However, we shall learn," and he set to work with a pocket-knife on his cobbler's task. "I don't believe in high heels, do you?" said he.

"No, I don't," said she. "I only favor them for evening wear. You know, my people will be almost mad with anxiety,' said the woman.

"Done!" said the man, and he took it in a firm grasp.

"This stew is ripping!" said the

woman.

"Bully!" said the man.

"Well, no," said the man later in the day and in reply to a question. "My occupation has always been of a sedentary nature; but hunger is the mother of invention. When I was young, of course, I read such helpful romances as 'Sanford and Merton,' and, finding myself in this predicament, I discovered means at hand to secure the wherewithal for stew. Fuel

people. That is to say, I came up here alone, and I shan't be missed, except, perhaps, by some other campers-out, and they will not be curious, I fear."

"You see," said the woman, "I wandered away from my hotel after the dance. It was awfully stupid, but I wanted to be by myself for a while. I had something to think about, and I wandered off. I must have walked for an hour, perhaps more, when I found myself, utterly bewildered, on a very unfrequented path, for it was entirely grass-grown. I tried to retrace my steps, but lost the way hopelessly, and, although I called and called and called, there was no reply. I sat down after sev